Lions at the Door
by MortalCoil31
Summary: What could bring together Sherlock Holmes, John & Mary Watson, the Doctor, Rose Tyler, Nick Fury, Seeley Booth, and Temperance Brennan? A string of murders involving alien technology. A shadow government employing an old enemy to help with what they call "the end." An approaching disaster of incredible proportion. (Major character death!)
1. Chapter 1: The Skull out of Time

Chapter One

The Skull out of Time

Things were quiet in the middle of the night, a few miles from the Washington Monument, near an old brick apartment building. Only the rats moved at this hour in this part of town. They rooted around for pieces of trash without any fear of violence; humans had much more to fear from each other than the rats did.

There began a sound somewhere between that of a siren and a very slow propeller. The humming, wailing sound didn't frighten off the rats. They continued snuffling along the ground, relying more on smell than anything else. Their weak eyes didn't pay much attention to the blue light which began fading in and out a few seconds later. But when the inconstant image resolved into a blue solid labelled "POLICE BOX: PUBLIC CALL," and the light became steady, they scattered, looking for shelter in the shadows created by the light from the TARDIS.

Rose and the Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS with easy smiles. The Doctor fidgeted with his black jacket as Rose looked about. She swung the bag she was carrying, a black bag used by doctors from a previous time to carry all of their medical instruments.

"Looks like it worked," she said. "Washington, D.C., after all. And I'd say we haven't missed the time by much."

"Just ten or fifteen years after we last saw Jackie, I'd say," the Doctor replied. "Right on time! That's a nice change," he added, directing a petulant smile at the machine behind them. "Well, come on then! We've got to get that thing to my colleague as soon as we can!"

"I know," said Rose with a groan, almost collapsing with pretended exhaustion at his insistence. The Doctor made an unexpectedly quick and intent motion to catch her. For a moment, the smile had faded from his face.

Rose smirked at him. "A fall won't kill me, y'know," she said, winking at him.

"I know," said the Doctor. Rose then noticed that his eyes were on the black bag. It occurred to her that his eyes probably had been on it the whole time.

Rose looked at the bag and asked, "D'you really think this is important enough to stop what you're doing and go back three thousand years?"

"Think about what we know," he said, holding out his hands as if he were going to grab her head and transfer the thoughts to her. "We're on a planet inhabited by no living creatures but giant butterflies, thousands of years in the future, and on that planet we find a human skull. And not just any human skull, but the skull of a human that definitely came from Earth. And not just any human that came from Earth, but a human from this year. That skull was thousands of years old when we found it, but Earth won't develop the engines powerful enough for that kind of space travel until a time later than the time we found the skull!"

Rose shrugged. "So, it fell through a crack in time or something."

"What, without any other artifacts of any kind? Nothing but a few human skeletons, no rubble, no spaceships, nothing else?" Rose didn't have a reply. "No, Rose. They didn't fall. They were pushed. Somebody put those humans into a space portal, and I want to know why."

"And you think we'll figure out who did it and why…if we go visit your friend?"

"I don't have any better ideas. I've never seen a wound like the one on that skull. Doesn't fit any weapon I've seen before. The person we're visiting is what you might call a specialist. She knows more about death and bones than most people, human or not. And if that human was killed before he was shoved through the space portal, then she might be able to find out who he is."

"Why's it so important? So what if some bloke and his mates get killed this year?"

"That's not the most important part. The space portal sent those humans to the butterfly planet this year. They weren't just killed this year; they were transported this year."

Rose's eyes widened in comprehension. "Somebody on Earth has the space portal."

"Which hasn't been invented yet."

"Someone mucking about with aliens?"

The Doctor grinned. "That's what we're going to find out."

* * *

Dr. Temperance Brennan was leaning over a very small, mummified skeleton placed on a table. Next to the skeleton lay some weapons and jewelry made of bronze. She kept shifting her gaze between the skeleton and one of the weapons, a large curved sword.

"Assessment?" she asked.

Camille Saroyan raised her eyebrows and smiled a little. "He's dead?"

"Victim died of wounds caused by this weapon," Temperance said, pointing at the weapon she had been examining.

"Okay," Camille said slowly.

"The interesting part is that the victim was buried with this weapon. It's his own weapon."

"Why think it's his weapon? Maybe it was included in his burial for some other reason."

"Inconsistent with local practice. The victim would have had no possessions but his own in the grave. He had to meet death with what he had gained for himself. Taking someone else's possessions with him would be cheating."

"Right. So, the question is why would the weapon that killed him be buried with him?"

"It's puzzling. If the people who buried him knew that it was the one that killed him."

"How could they not?" Temperance didn't respond. "You think this was a murder? That the killer covered up his murder and made it look like some other kind of death?"

"I wouldn't like to commit myself to a premature conclusion."

"Of course. Um, why did you want my opinion?"

Temperance looked up and took a short breath before replying. "You were standing nearby, and I thought that conversation would be an acceptable way to make you feel included."

"So, you didn't actually need my opinion?"

"A second opinion is always valuable."

Camille smiled again. Temperance smiled too, because she assumed that the smile was a straightforward indication of pleasure. After a moment, though, when Camille's face didn't alter, Temperance began to suspect that some subtler social maneuver was going on.

Booth's voice saved either woman from the need to redeem the situation. "Hey, Bones, I have a case for you."

"Booth, yes, what is it?" she asked eagerly. "Will I need a gun?"

"What? No, gosh, what is it with you and guns? Straightforward homicide, but we don't know who did it and we don't know what the weapon was."

"You don't have the weapon?"

"We don't even know what the weapon was."

"I wouldn't expect you to," Temperance said dispassionately.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence. Anyway, you gotta come take a look right away and leave the mummies for a grad student."

"I'll be there in a moment." She was already walking toward her office, removing her rubber gloves. She had been looking back at Booth so that he would hear her. When she turned back around, she stopped quickly to avoid running into a tall man in black.

"Oop! Sorry about that," he said brightly, a huge smile on his face. "Tempe, how have you been?"

Temperance opened her mouth for a moment before any sound came out. "Doctor! I—This is—How did you get in?"

"Special clearance. Favor I did a while ago for the director. Special consultant." He tapped a name tag on his jacket. It said "Special Consultant" but did not include a name.

A blond woman rushed out of the door which the Doctor had rushed through a few seconds ago. She was wearing a bright pink jacket, tight jeans, and a tight shirt. Temperance didn't recognize her. She was surprised that such an unscholarly-looking woman could be another special consultant. It wasn't the blond woman's clothing that made Temperance think this; it was her manner. The woman looked more like a risk-taker: something like a stunt driver or a base jumper.

"Is this your friend, then?" she asked. Temperance guessed that her accent belonged to a lower-class area in London.

"Yeah," said the Doctor. "Rose, this is Dr. Temperance Brennan. Tempe, this is Rose Tyler."

"Pleased to meet you," said Rose, holding out her hand.

Temperance took it and felt her hand jerked up and down by Rose, like the handle of some important pump on an old ship. "Likewise."

Then she turned back to the Doctor. "It's been a few years. Do you require help with your research?"

"Oh, do I ever! You're not going to believe this, Tempe! Rose, the bag please."

Rose handed him an old black medical bag. Temperance wondered what he could be carrying in such an outdated vessel. Once the Doctor had the bag, he started walking toward the lab area where Camille and Booth stood. They had been whispering to each other. Rose guessed from their expressions that neither of them had met the Doctor.

The Doctor set the bag down on a table like the one which held the skeleton and the old weapons. Meanwhile, Temperance tried to introduce him.

"Booth, Cam, this is…the Doctor. Doctor, this is Seeley Booth and Camille Saroyan. Agent Booth is from the FBI, and Doctor Saroyan works with us at the Jeffersonian."

The Doctor once again assumed a huge grin and said, "Pleasure! Always good to see law enforcement at work, utilizing science to bring more justice to the world. Marvelous! Simply marvelous!"

Camille looked amused and perplexed. Booth frowned slightly and said, "Hey, uh, Doctor…Doctor what?"

"Oh, just 'Doctor' is fine, thanks."

"Yeah, but how exactly can you be a special consultant if nobody knows your name? How do they put you in the records?"

"Oh, they manage. I'm in untold numbers of records."

"I met the Doctor at an excavation of a Sumerian city," said Temperance. "He proved astoundingly helpful at conjecturing the use of some previously unseen tools."

"Oh, you're pretty astounding yourself, Tempe. And now look at you! Doing the same work, only this time you get to help the survivors of those who died. I couldn't be prouder. But we really don't have all that much time, we never do, and I want to get your opinion about this."

As he finished speaking, the Doctor opened his bag. Camille and Temperance stepped closer to look into the bag. Booth kept his place, crossing his arms and continuing to frown at the Doctor. Rose already knew what was in the bag, so she watched the people. She didn't notice how much of her time was spent watching Booth rather than the women. It wasn't entirely because of his looks. She was shrewd enough to focus on the person who seemed most suspicious of some unannounced visitors.

Meanwhile, the Doctor put his hand into the bag and took out a human skull. It was clearly very old. Temperance gasped a bit when she saw it.

"Doctor," she said, "this should have been transported in something much more secure. I have to admit, the casual way you treated this relic is…well, appalling."

"Sorry about that, I had to improvise a bit. But this old bag's not quite as unsecured as it looks, believe me. Now, what do you think about it?"

Temperance found a pair of gloves nearby and quickly put them on. Then, she took the skull from the Doctor's bare hands. She held it expertly and brought it up to her face. She didn't say anything for a full minute.

"It's very old. Three thousand years?"

"Just about. Any ideas about the markings on it?"

Temperance focused on the forehead. Something had pierced the skull and had left a small slot. There were odd grooves radiating from the slot. They formed a grim starburst, a nearly perfect spiral of lines that made the slot look like the hole in the bottom of a bone sink.

"Definitely sufficient to cause death. Either that or some kind of ritual carving, maybe."

"I did a little investigating, too. It was definitely cause of death." The Doctor waited for her to say something in reply.

"But the carving surrounding the wound puzzles me. So does the delicateness of the instrument. Whatever pierced this skull was very narrow, probably metal, but I can't think of any weapon with this fine a point from the time this wound would have been made. Except maybe an arrowhead."

"But it was no arrowhead," said the Doctor.

"No, definitely not."

"So you don't know what it was?"

"Do you have any theories?"

The Doctor met her eyes for a moment. He seemed to be gauging something. He looked at Booth and Camille with the same careful look. Then, disappointingly, he said, "Not a clue." There was silence for a moment again, as each of them tried to judge whether he had lied. Rose was trying to judge, too.

"Okay, wait a minute," Booth said. He walked up until he stood abreast of Temperance. "Let me see that."

"Booth, this skull is ancient and delicate. It can't be handled by laypersons."

"I don't want to touch it, I just want to look at it. Let me see that."

Temperance lifted the skull again and moved it toward Booth. His mouth opened a little as he concentrated, and he leaned in to look at the skull. Then he straightened up and looked at the Doctor.

"Where did you get this?" All of them were startled by his tone. Quite suddenly, he sounded less like Temperance's protective friend. He sounded like Special Agent Booth, gathering information about a federal crime.

"Excavation site," said the Doctor. "Quite far from here. Different, er, continent."

"Booth, what is it?"

"Bones. That's the same wound found on the skull I wanted you to look at. The one I came to talk to you about."

"Where was this skull?" the Doctor asked. "Was this a recent death?"

"Hold on, buddy," said Booth. "You're not a special consultant anymore. You're more like a suspect."

"Booth, don't be ridiculous. The Doctor's skull is over three thousand years old. It couldn't have been affected by the same person who killed the victim you want me to examine."

Booth said, "Something weird is going on here. I've never seen marks like this before, and I've seen plenty of bodies. Flesh peeled, maybe burned, off of the face, sliced along the same lines as the lines on this skull. With a little hole in the middle of the forehead. What are we dealing with, time travel? One of Hodgins's cults?"

Temperance said, "I couldn't possibly know. I didn't see the wounds until five minutes ago. But we need to be objective about this. We need to find out what caused the wounds, but it won't help if we start suspecting archeologists who bring me ancient skulls to examine for academic purposes."

"Where is this body you just found?" asked the Doctor again.

"None of your business, pal. Even if you're not a suspect, you're not a federal agent."

"Neither is she!" said the Doctor indignantly, pointing at Temperance.

"She's a special consultant."

"So am I!"

"Just why are you so eager to see the body, anyway?"

The Doctor looked shocked by the question. "Academic reasons! If your body has the same wounds as my skull, then there might be some connection in the weapon used. It could shed light on my research."

This time, nobody except Rose even suspected that he was lying.

He went on, "Did you say the flesh was burned off along this pattern? Was it peeled back or just sort of shriveled up?"

"Look, it's an ongoing federal investigation, I can't divulge that kind of information. So just rest easy, okay?"

"Booth, he has legitimate scientific reasons for asking. Are you sure he can't come along for the investigation?"

"Some special archeologist who doesn't even have a name wants to tag along on a criminal investigation? Oh, what was I thinking? Come right along! Of course he can't come."

"But I can vouch for him. He might be able to help determine the nature of the weapon used. If he's been researching a similar phenomenon, then he might have insights which it would take us a long time to reach."

"We don't even know his name!"

Rose spoke up. "Jack," she said. Everyone looked at her. They had almost forgotten the girl in pink. "He's Doctor Jack Harkness."

Booth looked quickly from the Doctor to Rose. "That's his real name?"

Rose hesitated for only a second. Agent Booth was even more keen than she's figured. "Course it's his real name! Why would I make it up?"

Temperance joined in. "Booth, you're being excessively suspicious. We'll keep a close watch on him while he's at the crime scene. He won't take any evidence."

"That's not what I'm worried about. The victim wasn't just some ordinary Joe. This would be a federal crime no matter where it happened."

"Why? Who is it?" Camille asked.

"Look, I don't have the authority to tell any of you anything about this. Not that that would stop me usually, but my boss just stressed how sensitive the case is and now total strangers want in on it."

"Well, if you want my help I insist that you let Doctor…Harkness come too," said Temperance.

"You're serious?"

She nodded.

Booth sighed. "Okay, I'll call my boss. I'm going to order a search for Jack Harkness in our databases."

"Oh, you won't find anything," the Doctor said. "I'm a good boy."

"You'd better hope so, pal. Come on, we might as well head toward the crime scene."

They walked away from the lab, leaving Camille shaking her head. Booth pulled out his phone. Rose and the Doctor walked a little behind the other two. Each gave the other a look which advised caution.


	2. Chapter 2: The Body in the Pentagon

Chapter Two

The Body in the Pentagon

All four of them rode in Booth's car. Rose and the Doctor had to sit in the back, so that Booth could confer with Temperance. Booth told her some of the details of the investigation. The Doctor tried to listen in, but Booth was playing the radio and talking softly. The Doctor couldn't hear them over the song. He could catch a word or two, but then the music would intervene. He wondered whether Booth was playing the radio that loud deliberately.

"Are you serious?" said Temperance.

_Oh yes, I'm the great pretender, _

_ Adrift in a world of my own;_

_ I play the game, but to my real shame…_

"…top security procedures. Took me a lot of negotiation to get a pass for Doctor _Harkness_ there."

_Too real is this feeling of make-believe_,

_Too real when I feel what my heart can't conceal…_

The Doctor leaned toward Rose. She was looking out the window.

"Gorgeous scenery, don't you think?" she asked.

"Oh yeah, charming. Look, Rose, something's not right."

Rose turned to look at him. "How d'you mean?"

He went on, "Think about it. We found those skeletons on the butterfly planet, transported straight from Earth this year." He lowered his voice when he mentioned being on a different planet.

"So?"

"So, what was the point in moving those skeletons?"

"Maybe he didn't want to get caught. You know, hide the bodies."

"But it didn't work, did it? Agent Booth up there, his people found the body. How's that? And how is the killer going to transport the body now? It's in the custody of the FBI. And another thing. Those bodies we found, there were several. Booth didn't mention more than one body."

"What does that mean, then? This is a different case after all?"

"Oh, no, they're definitely related. That wound pattern is unmistakable, even if it's just a trace left on a bare skull. But I can't see where this is going. Maybe this is the first case and the killer is getting ready for his big mass murder, and the bodies we found are evidence of that. Or maybe so far he's gotten away with it and transported the bodies, but something went wrong this time and he couldn't. Anyway, it doesn't sound like our agents up there are ready for a serial killer, but that's what they're getting into."

"Well, they'll find out sooner or later, won't they? When they find more bodies."

"_If _they find more bodies. Remember, the others might be on the butterfly planet already."

"So what? They're the law enforcement, aren't they?"

"But Rose, you've seen crime dramas, haven't you? They get one thing right. An investigation of an isolated murder is very different from an investigation of a serial killer. Motive is totally different. If they're going to catch the killer, they need to know that he wasn't targeting that single victim."

"But it's none of our business. It's not our responsibility to help them catch him."

The Doctor lowered his voice even more. "I want to know who has that transporter. I want to know why he's using it, how he got it, if anyone is helping him. That's my business, and it's my responsibility too."

_There's a room where the light won't find you,_

_ Holding hands while the walls come tumbling down…_

Temperance turned around to look at them. Rose feared for a moment that she had especially keen hearing, that she had heard their discussion over the sound of Tears for Fears. But she said nothing but "Booth says we're almost there. We'll be entering a very high-security building. You'll need special badges giving you clearance." She handed them some badges.

"Great, fantastic," said the Doctor with his huge grin. "We'll be on our best behavior, don't worry."

_Everybody wants to rule the world…_

"What is this building, exactly?" Rose asked.

"Look, it's the Pentagon, all right?" said Booth. "So just don't touch anything, no flash photography, turn off your cell phones."

"The Pentagon?" Rose almost screamed.

"Oh, the Pentagon," said the Doctor. "Been a while since I was invited there. This should be easy sailing, Rose. They know me here."

"You're familiar with the Pentagon?" Temperance asked conversationally.

Booth said, "Wait, wait. They know you here? Well then, 'Jack Harkness' isn't your real name, because they didn't recognize it. It took me a lot of work to convince them to let you in."

"Yeah, sorry about that. Nothing but an alias. Bit of a precaution, I'm afraid."

"You can't tell us your real name?" said Temperance.

"Afraid not, Tempe. Back to being the Doctor, I suppose. But that's not too bad, is it?"

"Not at all. An alias adds an element of mystery, especially considering your archeological expertise, and I find it intriguing. To be honest, I found 'Jack Harkness' something of a disappointment."

"So did I," said the Doctor, with a glare at Rose.

"So you're telling me," said Booth, "if I had told them that the Doctor wanted to check out the crime scene, I could have saved myself ten minutes of screaming into my phone."

The Doctor considered for a moment. "Probably. I'm awfully sorry about that. Still, at least now you don't have to worry that it was a mistake to let me come!" He raised his eyebrows as he looked at Booth, as if inviting him to consider forming an alliance.

Booth didn't say anything.

Temperance spoke up. "Booth is actually much more socially skilled than I am. I would attribute his consistent lack of courtesy toward you as an effect of his stress over this case."

"I don't need you to apologize for me!"

"I wasn't apologizing, I was explaining. It's become almost a reflex ever since I've been a leading expert in my research field."

"Yeah, apparently we're flooded with experts today."

"An embarrassment of riches," said the Doctor.

"Come on," said Rose, tapping Booth lightly on the shoulder and smiling. "We're not so bad. I promise. You wouldn't believe how many secrets we can keep."

"That's what makes me nervous," said Booth.

* * *

After driving through the elaborate drives and careful security, Booth parked in a secluded lot reserved for those with rare parking decals. The four investigators walked through the River Entrance and were met by an intimidating woman in uniform.

"Agent Booth?" the woman asked.

"That's right." Booth shook her hand.

"Lydia Bristol, PFPA," she said, returning the handshake firmly.

"Pentagon Force Protection Agency," the Doctor told Rose.

Lydia asked Booth, "These are your guests?"

"Doctor Temperance Brennan, Miss Rose Tyler, and…the Doctor."

"Doctor Harkness?" the woman asked, looking at the tall man in black.

"Not exactly," he said with a smile. "Bit of a mix-up. Just 'the Doctor' will do."

Lydia frowned. "Hang on." She picked up her walkie-talkie and spoke into it. "Bill, I've got an unidentified guest coming in with FBI authorized personnel. Advise."

"You can ask Director Skinner at the FBI," said the Doctor. "He'll recognize me."

Lydia raised an eyebrow. "Who do I tell him is here?"

"Just the Doctor."

"Bill, can you get hold of Director Skinner at the FBI and ask him if he's heard of someone called the Doctor? Just 'the Doctor'."

"Roger that, Lydia," said the voice over the walkie-talkie.

"We'll get this straightened out in just a minute," Lydia said. She continued to assess the Doctor's appearance. There was a moment of silence until Temperance spoke up.

"Agent Booth was informing me about the case on the way here. I understand the wounds are unusual. The body was found in one of the basement levels?"

"That's correct," said Lydia. She kept looking at the Doctor.

"It remains unclear to me why the F.B.I. was consulted at all. Was the PFPA considered unfit to deal with this case?"

"Bones!" said Booth.

For the first time, Lydia smiled—or smirked. "We wanted your forensic expertise. Definitely not your PR skills though."

The voice over the walkie-talkie spoke again. "Lydia, Director Skinner has cleared the Doctor. Let them in."

"Roger that," said Lydia. To the four visitors, she said, "Follow me."

* * *

Lydia took them inside, into an elevator, and down some hallways. She explained some details of the case as she went.

"The body was discovered this morning by a custodian. Unfortunately, he fainted and didn't call it in before some other workers got here. We have no idea how extensively the scene could have been interfered with before the PFPA was notified. But we're fairly sure that the unusual wounds were not inflicted post mortem. They seem to be a side effect of the cause of death, which, as you probably heard, was a piercing of the skull by some kind of sharp instrument."

"Did the instrument pierce straight through the brain?" Temperance asked. "It seems possible that such an injury could result in severe damage while allowing survival."

"It's hard to say whether the brain was run clean through. Brain matter was coming out of the wound. It looks as if the brain has been scrambled. Liquefied."

Rose said, "That's disgusting."

"Is that your professional opinion?" Lydia asked. "The higher-ups have been complaining all day because I've refused to take the body off the scene before you got a chance to look at it. They say it absolutely has to be gone by fifteen hundred hours."

They had reached the crime scene. Rose covered her mouth and nose with a moan. Booth swore. The Doctor and Temperance moved closer with some eagerness. They each went under the yellow tape securing the hallway and knelt down by the crumpled body surrounded by odorous liquids.

Meanwhile, Booth asked, "Who was he? Was he supposed to be in this hallway?"

"His name was Edgar Arlington. He worked two floors above this one. Nobody knows why he was down here."

"What's around here, on this floor?"

"Just routine offices, a few storage rooms. Some electrical rooms, maybe."

"So he wasn't poking his nose where it didn't belong?"

"My best guess is that he was lost. He was killed after hours, which means he shouldn't have been here either way. But if he was looking for anything special, he came to the wrong part of the building."

"Fascinating," came the Doctor's voice from behind the yellow tape.

"Any progress over there?" Booth asked them.

"These wounds are extraordinary, Booth. It's almost as if…I'm not sure. I need this to be taken back to the Jeffersonian."

"I'll have to clear that," said Lydia.

"Tell them the Doctor agrees that we need to move the body."

Lydia frowned again.

Booth's phone rang. "Hang on," he said, and answered it. "Yeah? ...What? … You're sure? …Okay, okay….Hold on a minute." He took out a pad and pencil and wrote something down. "Yeah. Thanks." He put away his phone and said, "Two more murders. Same wounds."

Temperance said, "Two?"

"Yeah. In different locations. Looks like we might be dealing with a serial killer. This is just great."

The Doctor asked, "Where were the other bodies found? More government buildings?"

"Nope. I've got the addresses. I guess we're going there next." He turned to Lydia. "Do you need us for anything else?"

"No, but thanks. It's a relief to think this might be unrelated to any government activity. Even so, I'd like an explanation of why he was in here so late and why a serial killer would break into the Pentagon after hours to find a victim."

"Well, that's not really our department. We're just forensics. But I'm sure you have plenty of experts on serial killers." Booth turned to the other three visitors. "Come on, we'd better get there as quick as we can. Three serial murders in one day… Thanks for your help, Lydia."

"Anything we can do to help. And we'll let you know if we need you again. Meanwhile, I need to talk to the PFPA about finding that expert you mentioned."

"Well, good luck."

"Oh, I have someone in mind already. Another FBI man. Will Graham. Ever heard of him?"


	3. Chapter 3: Rechauffe

Chapter Three

Rechauffe

Will Graham was almost smiling. He had slept well last night. There had been no nightmares, no sudden waking. An entire month free from work. His dogs could sense his good mood. They were playing more, wagging more, and also testing the limits of his disciplinary action more. He patted the head of one as it licked him on its way to some important canine task.

His holiday from horror was because of Hannibal, of course. Things had become so bad that he would start seeing murderers in Hannibal's office, although he knew perfectly well that these murderers were either locked up or dead. It was more usual that they were dead. Perhaps, he thought, he was a sort of bad omen for murderers. Anyway, when he started throwing Hannibal's sculptures at illusory attackers, Hannibal declared that things had gone far enough. Both he and Alana Bloom besieged the office of Jack Crawford with a legion of reports, requests, and interviews, until they gained unconditional victory. Unconditional victory over Jack Crawford: that was something to boast about.

Will had tried to convey the intensity of his gratitude to them. Alana had smiled and said something platitudinous, probably in an attempt to distract him from the tears hanging in her eyes. He had given her a hug—a strictly friendly one, he assured himself—before leaving.

Hannibal had said gravely, "I can't have you ruining my sculptures."

As he recalled this, Will felt a little stab in his chest. Guilt. He really should call them. He had not spoken to them for the entire month of rest. He wanted to, badly; but when he picked up his phone to do so, he started sweating heavily, and he could feel the memories and hallucinations trying to press their way to the center stage of his mental theater. So he always put down the phone.

He wondered if he should try again. As he wondered, the phone rang anyway. He slowly picked it up. He noticed that he was hoping it was Alana or Hannibal and then hoping it wasn't. He cursed himself for his indecision. He looked at the screen.

It was Jack.

He threw the phone across the room with such a growl that the dogs all started barking and making small circles where they stood. It took the dogs a few minutes to settle down. It took Will almost an hour. When he did settle down, he closed his eyes and started forcing himself to breathe slowly. He noticed that his hands were hurting from being clenched into fists. He made himself relax his grip. He willed his legs to stand up, though it felt as if he were trying to move a limb already in rigor mortis. He swore inwardly; Jack brought death to his thoughts even indirectly.

When he did make it across the room to pick up the phone, it took a full sixty seconds of staring at the screen before he could make himself hit the callback button.

"Will, I was worried you didn't get my call."

Will could think of several good things to say to that, but he forced them all down and made himself say something factual. He knew it would still convey his feelings, because of the effort required just to pick the right words. "I did, Jack, I just didn't want to answer."

There was a moment of silence before Jack said, "I understand."

"And yet you called me anyway. That makes me question your…understanding." Will had had to slow down his angry thoughts before getting out the last word of his sentence.

"I wouldn't call you unless it was absolutely necessary. A very powerful government official requested you by name." Another slight pause. "Believe me when I say I called you with great hesitation."

"Your consideration is noted."

"Will you come?"

Will resisted the urge to hang up. Jack was not his enemy, he reminded himself. Jack wanted to protect everyone, which was why he wanted to catch serial killers. Jack wanted to protect Will, but Jack couldn't escape the feeling of being crushed by the burdens of responsibility. If Will was so good at empathizing, then he could empathize with Jack Crawford. "Have you spoken to Doctor Lecter and Doctor Bloom?"

"I want you to speak for yourself."

"As empowering as that is, I see no reason to resume work if they still recommend that I take leave."

"Will, this case is—it's bigger than anything we've ever dealt with. I can't say much over the phone. But it could have—major implications for everyone."

"Everyone?"

"The entire nation."

"And you want to leave the fate of a case that important in the hands of an unstable special consultant with no formal credentials?"

"I want to leave it in the hands of the best criminal profiler I know."

Will felt something bump against his knee. He looked down and saw one of his dogs, a white retriever, looking up at him with adoration. He reached down to scratch its head.

"Can I get you back in the field, Will?"

"I'll take a look at the crime scene, and then I want to be done with it."

He heard Jack sigh with relief. "All right. I'll see you there."

Will found the security procedures tiresome. It meant more time that he had to think about the case. The woman, Lydia Bristol, was direct and efficient, which made it more bearable. And, strange to say, she didn't seem put off by him. Even though he was conscious of being at his most autistic. Whenever he made a comment that seemed rude, pessimistic, or wry, she smirked as if in agreement.

The body was extraordinarily mutilated. All wounds were in the face. The skin of the face had been peeled back along cuts which followed some kind of irregular starburst pattern. They irradiated from the wound which had caused death, a small puncture to the cranium. The brains had been liquefied, apparently by whatever had pierced the skull. Some special instrument had been used to ensure this kind of death. The body was not arranged in any dramatic display. It was rather crumpled, and arranged more by the forensic team than by the killer. The killer had taken some care in choosing a weapon which would cause a bizarre death, but then he had left the body behind almost as if he had forgotten it. A flair for the dramatic, certainly, but not directed toward the victim. The killer's sense of drama was directed inward. The victim was a necessary condition of the drama, to be abandoned and cleaned up by stagehands. A casualty on the heroic journey being taken by the killer, who was carrying some magnificent intention.

All this was clear to Will Graham within a few minutes. When he rejoined Jack, he described these impressions. Jack listened carefully and with full comprehension, as always.

"So, a megalomaniac who is less interested in why his victims die than in the end which their deaths contribute to."

"Yes. And the weapon used to scramble the brains must be rare, which means it was chosen with great care. The killer wanted to make sure he destroyed the victim by destroying his mind."

"Erasing his knowledge?"

"His knowledge, his personality, his ability to choose. He's erasing the person. And then he…leaves the empty husk behind, to be cleaned up."

"By others as unimportant as the victim?"

"Exactly."

"The press isn't going to like this."

"That's not my problem."

"There are two more murders so far. I'd like you to take a look at those bodies too."

"It would be pointless. You'll find the same thing. Same kind of death, same negligent abandonment of the body. You need to look at any kind of power the victims had which would make them targets for a radical. And at the locations of the victims, to find out if they were just at the wrong place at the wrong time."

Jack smiled slightly. "Well, that is extremely helpful. Thank you, Will."

"I'm ready to go home now," said Will.


	4. Chapter 4: The Mysterious Lodge

Chapter Four

The Mysterious Lodge

Somewhere in Surrey is an abandoned hunting lodge whose age none can guess. It lies close to the land, serving as a trellis for local ivy. From time to time, local humans—usually teenagers and occasionally amorous adults—light up its windows to better their festivities. If anyone had passed the lodge on this evening and seen the windows illuminated, she would guess that such a party was going on inside.

But she would be wrong. Inside the lodge sat two men, one tall and dark, one short and fair. The tall man was looking around as if he already knew the place well. He would sigh from time to time with impatience, and then he would drum his fingers on his chair. The shorter man was trying hard to maintain his patience. The only clear signs of his unrest were his eyes and his lip, which he bit once in a while.

He turned to the taller man and said, "You're sure this is the one?"

"Yes," said the tall man contemptuously.

"It's just—it's been a while. You're sure _he _knows this is the one?"

"It was his idea. Please stop asking these stupid questions."

All right, all right! No need to get…You don't know why he wanted to meet?"

"He refused to discuss it over the phone. It has something to do with international affairs."

"Told you that much, did he?"

"I surmised."

The tall man pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. This made the other man frown, shake his head, and scoff in disgust.

"What are you so glum for?"

"You were supposed to quit. You told me you quit, in fact."

"I did. At the moment."

"That's not how—"

"John, I cannot express the banality of this conversation and its effect on my patience."

"Oh, well I could certainly express how waiting in this damp, moldy lodge is—"

"Shut up, he's here," muttered the other, standing up.

"How can you possibly-?" The other man gave him a look as if he had asked an obvious question.

The door of the lodge opened. A third man entered, this one slight and balding. He was carrying a black umbrella.

"John, good to see you again," he said to the fair man. He grimaced slightly as he turned to the tall man. "Sherlock."

"Brother," said Sherlock Holmes.

"I assume that neither of you is wired for sound?"

"Need you ask?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so," said Mycroft Holmes. "This matter is of the utmost delicacy."

"What's going on, Mycroft?" asked John Watson.

"I can't tell you everything. What you need to know is this. A series of murders occurred yesterday in the United States which immediately attracted the attention of—well, of people in my line of work. There were three murders in quick succession. One of an employee of the Pentagon, two of people who were apparently civilian."

"What, 'apparently'?" asked John.

"Secret agents, no doubt," said Sherlock.

"Oh, the most secretive imaginable," said Mycroft. "All three of them were important agents of a covert section of an American intelligence network. All three carried sensitive information which is lost, as far as we know. All three were currently engaged in an operation closely tied to the security of the entire globe."

"What was it?" asked Sherlock.

"I'm not permitted to tell you."

"No, you've got to tell me or I can't begin to solve this case."

"I'm not calling you in to do espionage, Sherlock, I'm calling you in to find a killer. We can handle the rest."

"Can you? As beautifully as you've handled things up to now?"

"This was not our problem until now. This was supposed to be an American problem."

"But now it's not, for some reason, and you need me. If you want my cooperation, then I need to know what's going on."

"Are you saying that you would glibly throw away your chance to defend the safety of every human being—"

"Spare me the rhetoric, you're not that kind of politician. I want more information or I'm not taking this case."

"But you are interested?"

"I'm interested, because for some reason you've taken an interest in the inner workings of an American intelligence agency. For all you've said so far, this is an inside job. You don't even know whether it is, because you don't know who the killer is. But you don't care. It's important enough to you that, even if the Americans are stealing from each other—FBI versus CIA, or whatever—you still want in. I want to know why."

Mycroft sighed regretfully and looked at his impeccably shiny shoes. "I was hoping this would be easier. Very well, then. We believe that the Americans have access to technology which would revolutionize warfare."

"That's nothing new."

"I wasn't finished," said Mycroft, rather touchily. "We believe they have acquired a device which would allow them to transport objects of indefinite mass across distances of indefinite length."

"So, what, an anti-gravity machine?"

"In no time at all," said Mycroft.

"Wait!" said John. "You mean to tell me the Americans have—have teleportation? _Star Trek_, that kind of thing?"

"Oh, it's hardly a teleporter. From what we can tell, it's more of a shortcut. Something which enables them to connect two spatial points otherwise greatly separated. You might say that it creates a portal, if you are given to the language of science fiction."

"So, military technology is out and everyone is scrabbling for it," said Sherlock. "That's the grand secret you had to keep from me."

"No, Sherlock," said John. "This is—this is huge! This means they could take a whole army and move it into enemy territory, blow the enemies away, and take them back to the home front in no time at all. It wouldn't be a war at all, it would be a massacre."

"I'm relieved to see that one of you appreciates the gravity of the consequences of this machine's being put to use. Will you take the case?"

"Hunt down a common spy and retrieve some files for you?" said Sherlock, making a face as if he had tasted a lemon while looking at a dirty picture.

"This is no common spy. He's killed three agents whom we believed to be very difficult to kill. And he's done it using a weapon unknown to any of us. Or anyone we've consulted."

Sherlock squinted. "Slightly more interesting."

Mycroft went on. "Flesh peeled from the face, all the cuts irradiating from a central point which pierced the brain. Whatever pierced the brain caused the peeling the moment it made impact. And it scrambled the brains of the victims."

Sherlock didn't say anything. He seemed to be thinking hard. John supposed that he was searching his vast memory for any reports of similar injuries. He seemed mildly intrigued, but John knew that he was just as interested in disproving Mycroft's statement that the weapon was unknown.

"Sherlock. I've already told you more than I am permitted to. I must know whether you will take this case."

"Sherlock, this could help a lot of people."

"I'll take the case." Both Mycroft and John relaxed. "If I am allowed to read the information which I recover."

"That is not mine to decide," said Mycroft.

"Don't pretend, Mycroft. You are the British government, you can give yourself permission."

"This is out of my hands, Sherlock," said Mycroft. And for the first time that either John or Sherlock could remember, Mycroft Holmes sounded not only desperate but afraid. "There are forces at work in this matter which nobody, not even I, can control. There are groups whose power I could not make plain to you given all the time we have, and all of them are focusing their efforts on this incident. I need you to take this case."

Again, Sherlock didn't say anything. But this time, he was not searching his memory. He was searching the face of his brother.

"When do we leave?" he asked.


	5. Chapter 5: The Man in the Shadows

Chapter Five

The Man in the Shadows

"Well, Bones, what did you think?"

"I gained very little extra evidence from the other two bodies. There was nothing remarkably different about them. With the lack of significant forensic evidence, I'm not sure what more I can do."

The two were sitting in her apartment. Temperance was playing Blue Oyster Cult on her expensive sound system. Their silvery forks clanked on delicate china plates. They were sharing Chinese food which they scooped out of little boxes made of white cardboard.

"Listen, Bones—This Doctor guy. You met him in some archeological dig?"

"Yes, he showed remarkable aptitude at conjecturing the purposes of some previously unidentified tools."

"But you've never seen his credentials? You don't know where he's from or why he does what he does or any of that?"

"Given his anthropological skills, his biographical details are of little concern to me."

"I don't like it."

"The Pentagon seemed to like him. And the Director of the FBI."

"That doesn't make me feel much better. Skinner may be a great guy, but he's been involved in some pretty weird stuff. Lots of times, when he was Assistant Director, he almost got expelled for ignoring protocol. All these wild cards poking around the Pentagon, it makes me nervous."

"Well, it's none of our concern. We were called in for my expert opinion, and that's all. I'm a little puzzled as to why you were involved at all."

"Yeah, thanks. Probably because I'm your government middle-man."

"Most likely." She placidly ate a forkful of lo mein.

Booth pulled out his phone to check the time. He noticed that he had a missed call. It was from a number he didn't recognize.

"Huh, I got a call. Must have missed it because the music is so loud."

"I think it's just right."

"Yeah, but it made me miss this call. Hang on."

He hit the callback button and waited as the phone rang. After two rings, a low commanding voice answered.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Booth here. Who is this?"

"Special Agent Seeley Booth?"

"Yeah. Who is this?"

"I need to speak to you regarding the case you investigated today. You can meet me between the hours of midnight and two a.m. at a restaurant called The Juniper Tree on Fifth."

"What is this? You have a tip, or what?"

Temperance put down her fork and watched Booth.

"You might say that," the voice answered. "Be there." And then the line went dead.

Booth put down the phone and looked at his partner. "Looks like we have a lead. Somebody called about the case."

"Who was it?"

"I don't know. Someone who said he had information. What time is it?"

"It's almost eleven now."

"I gotta go. I'm supposed to meet this guy at The Juniper Tree on Fifth before two a.m."

Booth stood up and put on his holster, then concealed it with his coat. He tossed one of the take-out boxes into a trash can and headed for the door.

Temperance said, "Booth, be careful."

Booth smirked, patted the place where his holster was, and said, "Hey! It's me!" Temperance smiled at him. But when he turned to face the door, her smile faded, and so did his.

The Juniper Tree was a small restaurant on a busy part of the street. The only burger it served was a Royale with cheese, which cost $30.00 a la carte. Other items on the menu cost a good deal more. Booth was glad to be wearing his suit.

When he entered, he scanned the room for anyone who seemed to be holding something underneath the table, anyone who was looking at him while whispering to someone else, or any other suspect persons. He saw none. He did notice a black man whose face was concealed behind a newspaper. Since this was the only person in the restaurant who was alone and the only person who was reading a newspaper in a place like this, he thought it likely that this was his informant. He walked over to that table.

He was interrupted by a man in a tuxedo. "Pardon me, sir, if you'll kindly wait to be seated—"

Booth pointed. "I'm with him."

The man turned to look in the direction he was pointing. "Oh, of course. Excuse me. Please continue." He hurried off, probably to find a fine wine for someone.

Booth sat down across the dark shiny wooden table from the man reading the newspaper. The man turned a page. The same commanding voice he had heard over the phone said, "Glad you could make it."

"Would you mind putting that thing down?" Booth asked.

"I haven't finished reading the funnies." The man rustled his paper.

"Okay, sir, you said you had some information about the murder we're investigating."

"Murders, Agent Booth. Three murders in one day, using a weapon unknown to any forensics."

"Maybe so. I guess we won't know until the press releases." Booth was not going to confirm whatever this man had heard, but he was wondering how the man could have found out any details.

"You may as well not try to keep any secrets from me, Agent Booth. I live with secrets."

"That's great. What do you have for me?"

"First, you're going to tell me something. Did you bring any amateur consultants in on this case?"

Booth smirked. "And why would I tell you that? So you can write a front-page article about it? Or take word back to a mob boss or something?"

"I'm not a journalist. And mobs—that's kid stuff."

"Then who are you?"

The man put down his newspaper, to reveal a scarred face with one eye covered by a black patch. "My name is Nicholas Fury. I work for a covert intelligence branch which has jurisdiction over both the CIA and the FBI. Maybe you've heard of us. SHIELD."

"Can't say that I have, and I'm not impressed. Anybody can pretend to be a spy."

"In Koktash. Several years ago. An oil magnate who was a terrorist in his spare time."

The smirk left Booth's face. One of his hands gripped the fork wrapped in a cloth napkin on the table. It looked as if he might snap the fork in half with that single hand.

Fury went on, "I told you, Agent Booth, I deal in secrets every day. Your official tours were not conducted in Kyrgyzstan. Ask yourself. How could I know about that assignment unless I am who I say I am?"

Booth didn't say anything, so Fury kept talking. "I know. You're thinking that doesn't prove that I'm on your side. Maybe this string of murders is being committed by terrorists and I'm one of them. If it helps any, I can show you my badge." He pulled out a very American-looking badge with his name and photo. The main emblem was an eagle surrounded by the words "Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division." When Booth still didn't speak, he said, "I can also ask Steve Rogers to confirm who I am."

"Steve Rogers. Captain America? The cryogenically frozen guy?"

"That's him. He's worked for me more than once. Should I call him?"

"No."

"Good, I'm glad that won't be necessary. It's late, and Rogers seems like the type of man to go to bed early."

"What did you need to know? And why are you asking me?"

"Official channels can be unsafe. I wanted to know whether you brought any amateur consultants in on this case."

"Yeah. My partner. Doctor Temperance Brennan."

"Anyone else?"

"A colleague of hers. She vouched for him, and Director Skinner did too."

"Did this colleague have a name?"

"No, he didn't. They called him the Doctor."

"The Doctor. I see."

"Is that who you're interested in? Because I'd like some intel about him, myself."

"Did the Doctor have anyone with him?"

"A woman, some kind of assistant. Rose Tyler. You mind telling me what's going on?"

"If only I could, Agent Booth. National security. You understand."

"Right. Of course."

"I can tell you this much. Tomorrow, I'll send an agent to pick up you and Doctor Brennan. You're unsafe because of what you know. Don't go with the agent until he or she shows you a badge like the one I showed you. You'll learn more once you reach SHIELD headquarters. Is that clear?"

"Wait, wait a second. You're taking us into custody?"

"I'm giving you asylum. If you want to make things easier for me, you can stay at Doctor Brennan's place. Then I can send only one agent to pick up both of you."

"Now, hold on just a minute, buddy. I'm not going anywhere with members of a national spy ring who are involved in a triple homicide."

"I won't force you. You can come with us, or you can stay and get killed. Those are your choices." Fury waited to see Booth's reaction, which was one of incredulous but silent indignation. "Of course, Doctor Brennan's life is in danger too."

"Is that supposed to make me come with you?"

"If you took the chance and stayed, and if she died because of that, you would never forgive yourself. I know. I've had partners before."

Booth squinted as he looked into Fury's single eye. Booth was good at reading people. He knew that the Doctor was hiding a secret purpose with his debonair naivety. And he knew that Fury was hiding purposes below three or four other purposes. He knew that Fury was not ultimately concerned with the safety of one FBI man and one forensic anthropologist. Fury was not even concerned with solving the murder. But Booth didn't care about that. He wasn't here to judge. He wanted to gauge whether Fury could protect him and Bones, and whether Fury would choose to do so.

When Fury mentioned past partners, what appeared to be a look of genuine regret came into his eye. Booth had seen it before. It was the look of someone who knew he had done the right thing but regretted it anyway. Regretted it because of the losses it had caused. Fury was not a man to spend lives cheaply.

"Where will you take us?" Booth asked.

"Somewhere safe."

"For how long?"

"Until this matter has been cleared up."

"Fine." Booth leaned in. "But if anything, I mean _anything_ happens to Doctor Brennan, you'll answer to me."

Fury was not impressed. "I assure you, we'll do everything we can to protect her."

"You'd better, pal."

Booth stood up and walked toward the door. Before he reached it, it opened and two men walked in. One was a slight man in a jacket, the other a tall man in a black trench coat. He scanned them, looking for odd bulges. Fury had him spooked.

He felt his suspicions justified when the men walked toward Fury. The tall man sat down where Booth had been sitting. The other man, with a look of irritation, pulled up another chair. Booth decided to hang back by the door to see what happened. He found a seat, evidently for customers to sit while they waited for a table. He sat down.

The two newcomers began discussing with Fury in quiet voices. Booth had fairly good hearing, but he couldn't catch anything. The tall dark man was talking in a deep voice, and talking very quickly. Fury reached under the table and withdrew some file folders. He passed them to the tall man, who opened one and rapidly shuffled through the pages.

At Fury's table, Sherlock Holmes absorbed the information on the pages almost as soon as he saw them.

Fury said, "I'm sure your brother told you that this is a matter of international security. Every living being is threatened by this."

"Mm, right, thank you," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock, at least pretend that you care," said John.

"It's fine, Doctor Watson," Fury said. "I'm not interested in Mister Holmes's virtues or vices. As long as he can help us locate the killer. That's all I need."

Meanwhile, Booth was still watching them. He also checked the other diners, looking for anyone acting too casual. A neatly dressed woman with blond hair sat down by him. She smiled in a friendly way.

"Hallo," she said in a British accent.

Booth nodded. "Hey. Are you, uh, by yourself?"

"Oh, yes. But don't worry, I'm a big girl. My name is Julia. Julia Potter."

"Seeley Booth. Nice to meet you."

"Seeley Booth. Is that a common American name? Please do forgive my ignorance." She laughed a little.

"No trouble. And it's not exactly common. Actually, I don't like it."

"Oh, I think it rather suits you. You look like a Guardian."

"A what?"

"It's part of the Keirsey Temperament Sorter. It's what you could call a personality test. I would guess that you are a Protector Guardian. Are you a policeman, social worker?"

Booth smiled. "FBI."

"Ah, there, you see? Did you serve in the military also, Mr. Booth?"

"Yeah, yeah I did."

"A paradigm case of Protector Guardian. Concerned with the safety of others, protecting the downtrodden. Plato also would have put you in charge of the military of his perfect city."

"And what's your personality?"

"Me? Oh, I'm a Crafter Artisan. I use tools and get things done. Think on my feet."

Booth leaned in and whispered, "Is that why you're trying to distract me from that table?"

"Yes, that's exactly it," she whispered back.

"What's your real name?"

"Mary Watson. And yours?"

"Seeley Booth."

"Honest soul."

"No, I just know that I'm on Nick Fury's side too. You missed it, but I was talking to him just before you people came in."

"Ah, I see." Mary relaxed considerably, although she kept an eye on the place where his holster was.

Booth waited for more, and when she didn't say more, he said, "You're much less talkative when you're not trying to keep my attention."

She winked at him but didn't speak.

"So did you come all the way from England to talk to Nick Fury, or are you a resident alien?"

"I'm afraid there's very little I can tell you. You understand."

"You know that's funny, Fury said pretty much the same thing. I want to know how I can be involved in this and still not know anything."

"I can't help you with that. I only just got involved myself."

"But you're under quarantine too?"

"Oh, yes. Once we've left this place, we'll be taken to a safe house. The same for you?"

"Yeah. This is just great."

"Don't worry, Agent Booth. Nicholas Fury is dishonest, but he can be trusted."

"Ha, that's one heck of a reassurance."

"I've worked with him before. I used to be an assassin. Please don't tell anyone that, I'm trying to start over."

"You're secret's safe with me."

She looked at him again and smiled. "I'm sure. I like you, Agent Booth. Which is good, since we'll be seeing quite a lot of each other. I suggest you go home and prepare for the safe house. There's lots to be done after that."


	6. Chapter 6: Melange

Chapter Six

Melange

Will Graham never had guests at his house in Wolf Trap, Virginia. When two men in black knocked in his door, he thought they were criminals seeking vengeance. He wouldn't let them in until they showed him their credentials. When they blindfolded him inside their car, he had doubts once again.

Somewhere in another part of D.C., a man was sitting at a computer screen. He could hear a song playing over the radio:

_Welcome to your life!_

_ There's no turning back!_

_Even while we sleep,_

_ We will find you…_

He was finishing a delicious apple when a message came up on screen.

Ladybird has made contact with Friday's Child, Black Sheep, and Little Boy Blue. Bo Peep nearby.

The man grinned. This was starting to be fun. He hummed to himself, "Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home!" Meanwhile, the radio kept playing:

_Everybody wants to rule the world…_

Rose and the Doctor were sitting in the TARDIS the morning after their investigation.

The Doctor said, "Still no clue. What could that blasted weapon be?"

Rose said, "Some kind of electric burst? Like a flash of lightning?"

"Hmm, maybe, but it'd be awfully strange lightning. Never seen such perfect patterns before. It's almost as if…"

"What, what is it?"

"It's almost as if it were designed for a different world. For a world where the physical laws are different. It created such an orderly pattern on the face. It's like it was designed to bring order out of disorder, instead of just following the order that's already there."

"What d'you mean, order out of disorder? It scrambled their brains!"

"Yes, it was supposed to do that. But the traces it left show that it did so in a very orderly way. It's not used to this world, where we already have stable natural laws. It's used to scrambling brains in a world where every moment is a fight against chaos."

"What kind of world is that?"

"Give me time and I'll think of it." He grinned, and Rose followed his example.

Just then, a tinny beeping sound came out of the Doctor's pocket. He pulled out a small cell phone and looked at the screen. "It's our forensic friend," he told Rose, and answered it. "Hallo?"

Rose could hear Temperance's voice. "Doctor, are you with Miss Tyler?"

"Looking right at her. What's up?"

"Um, I'm not sure how to explain this. We're with some people, I've never heard of them before, but they say they're with the government…"

"What do they call themselves?"

"They say they're part of something called SHIELD. Does that sound familiar to you?"

"Can't say I've heard of 'em before. But it's been a while since I was in the States. Easily could've missed them." Covering the mouthpiece of the phone, he said, "It was Eighteen Sixty-Three last time I was here. Had a chat with the President."

"Abraham Lincoln?" Rose asked with a little laugh.

"Doctor, are you still there?"

"Yeah, Tempe. Where are you?"

"I'm not exactly sure. They've taken us somewhere, but they wouldn't let me see where."

The carefree expression vanished from the Doctor's face. "They've what?"

"I was incredulous at first, but they provided satisfactory credentials. I believe them to be aboveboard."

"Tempe, the government can't just take you somewhere! What's going on? What do they want?"

"It has to do with the serial murders. They say we're in danger. Apparently we've witnessed something, or found an important piece of evidence without realizing it. Doctor, they want to talk to you. They asked me to call you."

"Did they say who's after you? Why aren't you safe? Let me talk to one of them over the phone!"

"Hang on." There were muffled, shuffling sounds.

Then a new voice came over the phone, a deep male voice. "Hello, Doctor."

"All right, who are you lot and what do you want?"

"Listen, because I don't have much time. They will find this call and can begin monitoring it any moment. You'll come to The Juniper Tree on Fifth. That's a restaurant. I'll meet you there myself. You'll be escorted to a safe house which is part of a SHIELD headquarters facility. Is that clear?"

"No, it's not clear at all, you haven't explained anything!"

"We're wasting time, Doctor."

"Don't talk to me about time! Start by telling me who you are and then we'll see about coming with you."

"What makes you think you have a choice?"

"I think you know I do."

There was a sigh, and then, "My name is Nicholas Fury. I save the world for a living. I think you know how that is, Doctor."

"That I do, Nicholas Fury, that I do." The Doctor looked at Rose. She bit her lip and nodded. "All right, we're on our way."

"Good." And then the line went dead.

They didn't blindfold the Doctor and Rose as they had Booth and Brennan. But then, since neither of them was from America, neither of them had any idea where they were. They had left D.C. proper and were somewhere in the outskirts. The car drove along a gravel road until it reached a chain link fence with barbed wire and security cameras. Once the car had clearance, it drove inside the fence toward a long building some twelve stories high.

"This is not our usual headquarters," Fury explained to them from the front passenger seat. "This building was established after the alien attack on Manhattan earlier this year, to prepare for any other extraterrestrial hostilities."

The Doctor slapped his forehead. "Oh, of course! The Chitauri invasion of Twenty Twelve!"

"That's why we have an eye on you. Ever heard of Torchwood?"

"Can't say that I have. Doesn't sound familiar, anyway."

"Maybe someday it will. They monitor extraterrestrial activity in the United Kingdom. We gathered all the intel we could from them, including their intel on you."

"And what did they say about me?"

"An ageless, time-traveling humanoid alien who does his best to prevent disasters. That was their general impression."

"Did they mention I'm brilliant?"

"I gathered as much." This made the Doctor smile contentedly. Fury went on, "We have reason to believe that the string of murders which you investigated are connected to extraterrestrial activity."

"And why's that, then?"

"We're not fools, Doctor. That wound pattern is perfectly unique. It was caused by a non-terrestrial weapon."

"And what's your game? Why are you interested in all this?"

"SHIELD is charged with protecting the United States, and the world if necessary, from threats which regular forces are not prepared to handle."

"At any cost?"

"I don't follow you, Doctor."

"Oh, I'm just curious, is all. I don't want to go sharing this brilliant brain of mine with someone who's going to do terrible things."

Fury turned around to look at the Doctor over his seat. "During the Chitauri invasion, the World Security Council wanted to drop a nuclear bomb on Manhattan. I made sure that didn't happen. Rest assured, we will do everything we can to protect the innocent. But there's no one else, Doctor. Either you help us or you're on your own."

"I'm quite used to being on my own. But I'm sure that won't be necessary, not as long as we all keep our noses clean." He looked out the windshield. "Are we here, then?"

The car was pulling into a small parking lot near the left side of the building. The driver unbuckled his seat belt, so the passengers did the same. When they reached the front entrance of the headquarters, Fury placed his palm on a scanner near the door. He then put his good eye up to a retinal scanner a little higher on the wall. Finally, he punched a code into a keypad on the other side of the door. The doors then opened on their own.

"Welcome to SHIELD," he said, and motioned for them to enter first. As they did so, he looked behind him, as if checking earth and sky for anyone who might be following them.

Fury escorted his guests into a large room filled with tables and chairs. There was a salad bar against one wall, and another bar opposite which contained different meats and vegetables.

"A cafeteria? Very nice!" said the Doctor.

"I could go for something," Rose said.

"Please, help yourself," said Fury as he walked toward another group of people. "Doctor, Rose Tyler, I believe you already know Doctor Brennan and Agent Booth."

Booth and Temperance already had turned around so that they could see who was coming in. Temperance approached them with a smile. Booth followed her without one.

Fury said, "And this is Mister Sherlock Holmes, Doctor John Watson, and Mary Watson."

The three Britons had been talking among each other, but now they stopped talking and started walking toward the growing knot of people. Mary smiled suavely, while John attempted to do the same. Sherlock looked as if he were sizing up competition. And that's what he thought of himself as doing.

Rose said, "Sherlock Holmes! I've heard of you. My mum used to follow your cases on the tellie."

"Lots of people do," said Sherlock rapidly, "can't say I'm—" Then he stopped and did something very rare. He did a double-take.

"Something wrong?" Rose asked.

"Yes," he said, "with you."

"Sherlock!" John muttered.

"What have we here? Travelers, but not just any travelers. Oh, you've traveled far indeed."

"He's good," said the Doctor. "Greatest detective in the world, no doubt about it. Keep going, Sherlock Holmes. Where am I from?"

"The North, by the sound of the accent, but a great traveler, you can see it in the eyes. And a war hero, of sorts, though you regret whatever it was you did."

"Sherlock!" John said.

"Lots of enemies and you don't know whether they can find you. An adept liar, almost as adept as me, and an expert at blending in with the locals. Also, a mechanic carrying technology not available to the public yet."

"Suppose that one was obvious," said the Doctor, moving his jacket to reveal the partly-uncovered sonic screwdriver. "But the rest?"

"Great traveler is revealed in the eyes, war hero in the way you carry yourself, only a fighter carries himself like that, but with a purposely self-demeaning manner because you're not proud of what you did, together with the way you scanned this room when you entered it which shows that you were unsure whether you'd be meeting new friends or old foes. Mechanic is obvious, there's a bit of grease on your right sleeve."

"And blending in with the locals?"

"I can think of no other reason to wear such an awfully plain outfit."

"It's fantastic!" said the Doctor with a huge grin.

John held out his hand to Rose. "Hi, I'm John Watson, and this is my wife, Mary."

"How d'you do? Rose Tyler."

"It's so nice to hear a London accent in this place," said Mary with a smile. "How long have you been in town?"

"Oh, just a couple days. And already we're part of a murder investigation."

"One that involves aliens," said Sherlock.

"That hasn't been confirmed," said Fury.

"Please! Your qualification is just prolonging the inevitable. SHIELD is investigating murders committed with an unknown weapon and calling in some kind of futuristic scientist. What else could it be, after your involvement with the Chitauri invasion? Yes, I watch the news."

"You're here to help us solve the murder, not to guess at the bigger picture, Mister Holmes. If you can't do your job, then I'll tell your brother that we'll find someone else."

"Good, then I can investigate on my own. Will that be all, Mister Fury?"

John grabbed his arm. "Sherlock, you should cooperate with these people. We're safe here."

"Don't be naïve, John, we're only as safe as the technology we have, which is clearly outstripped in this case."

"Yes, but it's the safest place we've got."

Mary told Sherlock, "Stop showing off. The Doctor is clearly not impressed."

"What makes you think I want to impress him?"

A new voice came from the corner of the room. "She's right." They all turned to look at a dark-haired young man wearing shabby clothes and thick glasses. Another man, dressed in the most elegant suit imaginable, was sitting nearby. The man with glasses left the table he had been sitting at and came toward them. "I'm not sure exactly how to diagnose you, but it's clear enough that you have a pathological need to demonstrate your talents. Whoever this Doctor is, you believe that he has a lot of intelligence and you want to make sure he knows you do too."

"Sorry, who are you, exactly?" asked John. Although he had been criticizing Sherlock moments ago, he felt suddenly defensive.

The man with glasses sighed and rubbed his eyes, a gesture which he often did when asked a question. "I'm Special Agent Will Graham. I'm a profiler for the FBI." He pointed at the well-dressed man, who had remained seating. "That's my colleague, Doctor Hannibal Lecter. He's here to make sure I get along with everyone."

"I would hardly say that was my purpose," said Hannibal.

"Ah yes, Will Graham," said Sherlock. "I've heard of your work. It's not bad, you have a knack."

"Everybody's heard of you, Sherlock Holmes. So don't waste any time trying to impress me."

"Oh, don't worry, I know it would be a waste of time."

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock went on, "You're easily impressed, though you don't always like what you see. Is that right?"

Will nodded.

Hannibal, who had joined them, said, "Will has a special gift. He can empathize almost perfectly with nearly anyone. It makes him one of the greatest criminal profilers in the world. I'm telling you this because he gets tired of saying it himself." Will nodded again, this time to thank Hannibal.

"Perfect empathy? That sounds awful," said Rose.

"It is," said Will with a bitter smile. Rose stroked his arm.

"Forensic anthropologist, private detective, criminal profiler…and me," said the Doctor to Fury. "And you brought us all here to protect us? Because we looked at a few corpses? I think you're up to something else, mate."

"I brought you here so that you would be safe while you continued your investigations. There are three or four places in the world safer than this one, and if I were concerned only for your safety I could have sent you there. But this place is equipped with everything you could need to catch whoever killed those three people. Including me and my associates. Consider us your assets."

"That's awfully generous of you."

"I'm not a disinterested party, as I'm sure you know, Doctor."

"Sorry, no," said Sherlock abruptly. "I work alone."

"You work with John and me," said Mary.

"Yes, but not with Americans and time travelers."

"Time travelers? What's he talking about?" asked Rose.

"Don't be stupid. Your ticket, the one in your pocket, the corner is poking out. It's for a showing of _Gravity_, a film which won't be released until next year."

"I told you we shouldn't watch that one," said the Doctor to Rose.

John said, "Hang on, you—time travel?"

"You what?" said Booth, who hadn't spoken yet.

Temperance said, "Einstein's work shows that time travel is impossible. The implications of the role of light cones in general relativity-"

"All right, all right, everyone hold it!" shouted the Doctor. The protests ended. "Listen. I'm a Time Lord. I'm an extraterrestrial who can perceive time non-linearly, which allowed my people to develop time travel. Tempe, the reason I knew so much about those tools was because I'd visited the time they were used. Rose and I came to this city at this time because we had a clue that alien technology was being used."

"In the murder?" asked Mary.

"It looks like it, yeah."

"That's not possible," said Temperance.

The Doctor shrugged. "It's the truth."

"A—a Time Lord, did you say?" asked John. "That's—Wow, that's really—Hmm."

Temperance looked confused and rather betrayed. "That means you lied to me." Booth came up alongside her and put an arm around her shoulders.

"I'm sorry, Tempe, but you can see that I had to do it."

Fury spoke up. "Now that we've cleared the air of that important fact, may I suggest that you all begin investigating? The sooner you find out what's going on with these murders, the sooner you can go home and we can protect the planet. I think that Mister Holmes has more information than the rest of you, thanks to his brother, so you might want to ask him about it. I have other work to do. You can contact me using the number which I used to call you." He walked out of the room, leaving them apparently by themselves.


	7. Chapter 7: In the Safe House

Chapter Seven

In the Safe House

**Author's Note: Fear not, for the pace will pick up soon. Things are going to get crazy. Please review! It would help me a lot. There are so many more chapters to come! I write a good many before I post them. But your input can alter the unpublished ones. **

When Fury left, the Doctor said briskly, "Right then! You, Sherlock Holmes, are supposed to know the most about this case. What can you tell us?"

"Why don't you find out on your own?" Sherlock asked. He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. John glared at him, but he ignored the glare. He put the cigarette in his mouth and lit it.

"Is that what you did, then? Figure it out on your own?" asked the Doctor. "Because Nicholas Fury said your brother told you all you know about it." Sherlock said nothing. "Look, Mister Holmes, I'm a time-traveling alien. If anyone here needs to be in the know, it's me."

"My brother Mycroft told me that the three victims were agents of SHIELD. They were working on a project involving new military technology."

"A teleporter?" asked the Doctor.

Sherlock had been about to speak, but he stopped and cocked his head. He seemed impressed for the first time. "How did you work that out?"

"Never mind, tell me more."

"Apparently some spies are killing the agents who know about the teleporter. It's not a simple cover-up, or Mycroft wouldn't be involved. My brother may be a busybody, but he is not easily frightened. And believe me when I say that he's worried. He thinks it quite likely that this teleporter will get into the wrong hands."

"And then what? Global warfare, armies slaughtered by armies that disappear as quickly as they came?"

"That seems to be what Mycroft thinks."

Booth swore again.

Temperance asked, "Do you have any clues concerning the identity of the killers?"

"No. I haven't examined the bodies, because I expected the crime scene to be contaminated by common investigators like you. They always get in the way of my work."

Booth said, "Ignore that, Bones, you're above it."

Bones said, "Ignore what?"

Rose interrupted. "Sorry, I'm still a bit confused."

"Hardly surprising," said Sherlock.

"There's a teleporter, and SHIELD has it, but some spies are trying to get it. But I don't understand, what are they trying to gain by just killing off people who work for SHIELD? How will that get them closer to it?"

"Not bad," said Sherlock. "That's what I've been puzzling over ever since Mycroft told me about the case. There was no evidence of torture or other means of interrogation. Nothing was taken from the bodies, as far as anyone can tell. And two of them were killed at home, with their possessions undisturbed."

Rose said, "Right, but the other one. Edgar Something."

"Arlington."

"He was killed in the Pentagon a long time after he should've left. On a floor he didn't work in."

"Yes, and it turns out he was an agent of SHIELD. Infiltrating the Pentagon, perhaps?"

"You think the Pentagon's behind this?"

"I didn't say that, best not to jump to conclusions. But it may be instructive to see what's down there, in the Pentagon basement."

Booth said, "Yeah, but the PFPA people we talked to said there was nothing unusual down there. Just maintenance and offices."

Sherlock replied, "Are you really naïve enough to believe that the Pentagon tells everyone what they're up to?"

"Fair point. So, how do we get there when we're stuck in this safe house?" Booth asked.

"We don't," Sherlock said. "We get Fury to find the information we need. He must have other agents working in the Pentagon who could find out."

"And what happens if they get killed, too?" Rose asked.

"Well, then we'll know we're onto something, won't we?"

She stared at him as if trying to tell whether he was joking, although she knew that he wasn't.

Will spoke up. He sounded as if he were forcing himself to speak. "There won't be another death at the Pentagon. Whoever killed Edgar Arlington was on a crusade. He went straight from there to the other two victims." He shuddered. Hannibal put a hand on his shoulder. "He wasn't protecting anything. He was eliminating a target."

"You're sure about that?" asked Sherlock.

"Yeah."

"Well," said John Watson, "I'm famished. Anyone care to join me at the salad bar?" Mary held his arm and gave him a reassuring smile. She seemed to know that his question, like his desire to leave the discussion, was not casual.

"I do love a good salad," said the Doctor. "Earth has a remarkable variety of flora. You can't imagine what it's like trying to find decent vegetables on the planets around Rigel Four."

"Yeah, you're right, I can't," said John, as he and Mary walked over toward the salad.

The Doctor followed them. Rose looked after him, then back at the circle of people discussing the murders. She thought about following the Doctor. But then she looked back at Sherlock Holmes and decided to stay.

"So, we get Fury to tell us what's down in the Pentagon. Then what?"

"Well, we can't plan ahead until we know what's down there. But we can start pursuing other lines of inquiry at the same time. There are plenty of us for that."

Temperance said, "I think it's crucial that we determine the weapon which caused those fatal wounds. That might give us the evidence we need to figure out who committed the crime, regardless of the motive."

Will said, "I agree. The weapon was carefully chosen. It's meant to be a reflection of the grandeur of the killer."

Rose said, "The Doctor told me something about it. He said it looked as if it came from another world. Something about a world where you have to bring order to disorder."

"Sounds like this one," said Sherlock.

"He meant at a basic level. A world where, I dunno, the laws of nature are imposed on chaos."

"There's no such place," said Temperance. "The laws of nature are uniform throughout all the reaches of spacetime. Even irregularities such as black holes can be accounted for. They're obeying the same laws, just in unexpected ways."

"Yeah, but you don't understand. The Doctor's been to so many places. What if he meant there's another world, one that's not part of our universe at all? Like another dimension or something."

"The use of the word 'dimension' to denote a separate universe is misleading. Do you mean a portion of spacetime which is isolated from this one?"

"Right. One with different laws. Running parallel or something."

Sherlock snorted.

"The idea has precedence in scientific circles," said Temperance. "Steven Hawking has entertained it. I regard it as a matter for speculative physics rather than empirical investigation, but this weapon might show otherwise."

"And how would it get from that world to this one?" Sherlock asked. "Parallel universes are supposed to be causally isolated. They can't affect each other."

"At one time, it was believed that no new heavenly bodies could be produced," said Temperance, "until a supernova was observed in the sixteenth century. Maybe the arguments about causal isolation have just been similarly debunked."

"More importantly, why would an inhabitant of a parallel universe concern himself with the military espionage of Earth? It doesn't make sense. Why travel across the impossible just to kill some cosmic strangers?"

"Maybe it's that teleporter thing," said Rose. "I saw this movie where aliens didn't care about us until we had invented a nuclear bomb. And we're still a Level Five planet, actually."

"A what?"

Rose went on, "Maybe the people in this other universe are worried because we could use the teleporter to reach their world somehow."

Sherlock said, "Interesting." He looked away from them toward the floor, and he steepled his fingers in front of his face. Then, suddenly, he groaned and threw down his hands. "No, no, no! It's too speculative! We need some evidence, we need at least some information about this other world. Where has that Doctor gone to?" He rushed over to the salad bar, where the Doctor was making Mary and John laugh with genuine laughter.

Rose, Temperance, and Booth looked at each other.

"Well," said Booth, "I am totally out of my depth here. Give me people to interrogate, give me a target to shoot, fine. Other universes? One is plenty to worry about."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," said Rose. "It's an awfully big universe, too."

"How many planets have you been to?" Temperance asked Rose.

"Oh, I dunno. You lose track after a while. And then there's space stations and asteroids and moons…"

"It sounds fascinating. I think that I would enjoy it."

"There's nothing like it," said Rose, with a strange smile.

"I think that the Doctor would be a good traveling companion. Are you in a sexual relationship? Is he capable of reproducing with humans? His sexual anatomy seems roughly compatible."

"Oh gosh, Bones!"

Rose laughed. "No, no, we're not—Definitely not. Nothing like that." But then she turned around to look at the Doctor, and Booth doubted her denials.

Meanwhile, Sherlock had begun asking the Doctor about the multiverse theory.

"I'm almost sure that's what it is," said the Doctor. "Trouble is, I can't remember which world that thing reminds me of. There's so many, you start to lose track. Order out of disorder…A world without laws of its own…"

"It sounds considerably more interesting than this one," said Sherlock.

"Yes, I imagine it would be," said the Doctor. "Dangerous, of course. You'd have to value courage in a world like that. Only the heroes would prosper." He took a bite of romaine. Then, he spit it out as his eyes popped fully open. "Hang on! That's it! Heroes, courage! Why didn't I see it before? I've got to tell Fury."

"What?" Sherlock asked eagerly. "What is it?" Now that they had moved out of sheer speculation, his bloodhound heart had picked up its pace.

"The Nine Worlds! Valhalla, home of the heroes! Oh, of course!"

John asked, "Doctor, what _are _you talking about?"

The Doctor shouted loud enough for all of them to hear, "Loki!"


	8. Chapter 8: Killing Time

Chapter Eight

Killing Time

Booth put away his phone. "I told Fury. He said he'd be here as soon as he can."

"What does that mean?" asked Temperance. "He could take ages."

"Yeah, well, if he does and this Loki character kills more people, maybe we can charge him with something."

Mary said, "I doubt somehow that you can charge a man like Nick Fury in a court of law."

Temperance made an indignant noise. "Nobody should be above the law! That's a simple principle of justice!"

Mary smiled. "Justice and the world don't always get along, do they?"

"You're Mary Watson? You're married to Doctor Watson?"

"Yes, just recently."

"Oh! Congratulations!" said Booth.

"Thank you. It's been…exciting."

"Yeah, I bet. Does Sherlock tag along all the time?"

Mary's smile widened. "He was there when John proposed to me."

"Oh my…"

"It was a bit awkward. But it was very—How shall I put it? It was characteristic. It's one of the things I love about him."

"His awkwardness?" asked Temperance.

"Yes, and his devotion to Sherlock. I don't often get to talk about it, so I hope you'll forgive my being so frank."

"Not at all. Many cultures worldwide are much more frank about sexual relationships."

"Bones, sheesh, I'm sure their relationship is not just…Ah, I mean…" Booth stopped. "Why are you the one saying these things and then I'm the one stumbling around to apologize? You apologize."

"For what? I made a statement of fact!"

Mary said, "It's quite all right. I think I've been to some of those cultures you mentioned."

"Yeah, well, I'm gonna go ask the Doctor about this Loki guy." Booth walked off. He was shaking his head reproachfully.

"I suppose I should go too," said Temperance. "I should be the one to hear the details. I may be able to contribute something because of my scientific training."

John walked over to Mary. "They're a bit odd, aren't they?" he said.

"They're sweet," said Mary. "They have no idea how much they mean to each other."

"You think so?"

"I should know. I'm getting quite used to bickering couples."

"Mary, you and I are doing wonderfully!"

"I didn't mean you and me, dear, I meant you and Sherlock."

The Doctor told Agent Booth, "Might as well wait until Fury gets here. I want to make sure I tell everyone everything they need to know."

"Fair enough. So you, ah, you time-travel, right?"

"That's right. You?"

"No. Went to Cancun once."

"Oh, yeah? Never been to Cancun, matter of fact. I've heard it's lovely."

Booth stared. "You have a magical way to travel anywhere and everywhere, and you've never been to Cancun?"

"Nope. Suppose I never got around to it. But tell you what. When we're done here, that's where Rose and I will go next."

"You should, bud. Plenty of snorkeling." Booth looked down. "Listen, I…I'm not the best at apologies, but I'm sorry if I was a little unfriendly earlier."

"Oh, no need for apologies, Agent Booth! Got to do your job after all, can't let some anonymous stranger walk in and ruin good evidence. You can make it up to me by getting me a beer when we're done here. I need to try some American beer. It's been a while since I was here."

"How long?"

"Oh…a hundred and fifty years or so."

"Did you meet Abraham Lincoln?"

"Oh, of course. Couldn't miss that opportunity!"

"Aw, you've got to be kidding me."

As Booth and the Doctor enthused over Abraham Lincoln, Temperance was talking to Rose. "You're from the south of London?"

"Yeah. Born and bred." Rose grinned.

"I have a colleague who works in sociology. He studies the conditions of impoverished families in south London. It's incredibly shocking how unfortunate some of those people are."

Rose blinked. "Yeah… Well, we, erm, manage. And what about you? Are you from around here?"

"More or less. I had a complicated childhood."

"Oh, that's too bad. You seem to be doing all right now."

"I'd like to think that I have established myself in a fulfilling and rational lifestyle. And, thanks to my involvement in the FBI, I can also contribute to the increase of justice."

"Great!" said Rose. "Not everyone can say that. And Agent Booth is your partner?"

"That's correct."

Rose looked around. "Is he…you know, _that_ kind of partner?"

Temperance hesitated. "I'm afraid industrial psychology is not my discipline. I'm relatively uninformed about distinctions between kinds of partners."

"You know! A _partner_."

"Oh! _That_ kind of partner! No. Our relationship is purely professional. Well, that is, we've formed a strong friendship, in my opinion at least."

"But it's strictly platonic?"

"I'm not sure I would say that. Plato believed that all love is just a search for the Form of Beauty itself as it's instantiated in the particular."

"Right… But you're not a couple."

"That's correct."

Nick Fury had come to hear their theory. He sat in the cafeteria, at the head of the table. They all sat around him, watching the Doctor, whose salad lay on the table in front of him still unfinished.

"Loki. You're sure?" Fury asked.

"That weapon was forged in Asgard. The home of Odin, lord of wisdom, who had to impose order on chaos. It's a constant fight there, reason against madness, wisdom against destruction. That weapon we're looking for, it was trying to impose a tidy pattern onto death itself. It's designed for a world where you need that kind of imposition. The realm of the Nine Worlds is the only realm like that."

Fury sighed very deeply. Then he said, "Twice in a year's time. Loki is one busy bee."

"He's all but tireless. Endless reserves of self-healing power and considerable strength. It's his dual heritage: born of the giants, raised by the gods."

"He was in the custody of his brother Thor last time I saw him."

"Yeah, well he must have escaped somehow. He's the only one who could've gained access to that weapon who would also want to visit Earth for the purpose of killing humans."

Will said, "It, uh, fits the profile. A megalomaniac who believes he's on a grand mission. Someone who treats human beings like animals."

"Burdened with glorious purpose," sighed Fury. "Well, at least it's an enemy we've dealt with before. I'll try to get in touch with Thor somehow. And I'll alert the proper personnel in SHIELD. Thank you, Doctor, you've been very helpful."

"Couldn't have done it without this lot," said the Doctor, winking at Rose.

"I suppose you're not going to let us out of here," said Sherlock. "Not with a mad god on the loose."

"On the contrary," said Fury, "with Loki loose no place is safe. I would advise you to make this your safe haven, but I won't stop you from leaving if you deem that best. It's only a matter of time before we face war again."

Booth said, "A single alien? That's not much of an invasion."

"You'd be surprised what a single human can do," said Sherlock. John shuddered a little.

Fury said, "If there's one thing I learned, Agent Booth, it's not to underestimate Loki. We're all in danger. Together with the rest of the world."


	9. Chapter 9: The Enemies

Chapter Nine

The Enemies

The child of Jotunheim and of Asgard strode through the nocturnal streets of Washington, D.C., feeling every bit a god. He kept the scepter concealed beneath his cloak, until an opportune time. During the night, with the scepter hidden, he faced neither contempt nor fear from the children of Midgard. Some of them saw him and walked away, probably thinking him a human bereft of reason. As they were themselves. They worried themselves with iPads, jobs, loves, while their world was thin as paper, waiting to be pierced by awful terrors. What madness but that?

He left the city and walked below the feeble stars of this tidy world. A very cradle it was, a tender shelter for the weak and unworthy. They knew nothing of the endless fight against the ancient dark, they whose lives were built around the kindness of their universe—thankless, thoughtless, infantile as they were. But he, powerful son of the Nine Realms, would show them true power.

These were the thoughts of Loki as he made his way to the west and to the south, beyond the false and manmade lights of the vainglorious city. He found the citadel of his allies. The base lay close to the ground, hugging the cold earth and hiding from unwary eyes. He knew that somewhere a human was proud of this construction—absurdly proud of a little concrete and metal, believing it protection. To him, it looked as feeble as a piece of bread, not built of the stuff of Asgard or the strong rocks of Jotunheim. He could, if it pleased him, blow the walls to the ground with a touch of his scepter. He wondered whether his allies knew this, whether they knew just how slight and poor they looked in his eyes. Their apish posturing gave no sign that they did. Indeed, they might even think that they could threaten him, that they could make him fear them—fools that they were.

There was none of them whom he feared, none—none except for that one who had summoned him. That one was different. He gave cautious thought to that human, as he made his plans.

Loki knocked on the door.

Inside the base, the security guard heard it and started from his relaxed posture. He pulled a lever, and a camera turned to capture Loki in its sights. When the guard recognized the tall, cloaked figure, he punched in a code which unlocked the door. Loki must have heard the door unlock, because the guard saw him reach forward and open the door.

Further inside the base, six men sat around a cherry table. It was illuminated by a fine replica of a Tiffany lamp, and upon it sat a decanter and several heavy glasses. From this table to the plush carpet to the light and tasteful wallpaper, the room seemed a perfect setting for the sounds of Bach's first cello suite, which played from a player in the corner.

When Loki entered, the men put down their glasses. They rose in respect and sat back down as Loki made a grand motion with his hand.

"Friends, I return to you," said Loki. "I have walked the streets of this capitol to survey the glories of the Earth, the glories of America." He paused.

One of the men asked, "And what did our illustrious guest think of our glories?"

"There is much to be built up, much to be refined. Much to be changed. But you are growing in strength, you are growing in wisdom—strength like the strength of Thor, wisdom like the wisdom of Odin." Inwardly, Loki laughed to himself. By this similitude, he had at once made a mockery of the humans and of his older enemies.

They did not yet see it. They looked relieved and pleased, simpletons that they were.

"Truly, this world should not perish. Truly, I shall do my part to save the children of men. Truly, together, we will stem the oncoming tide."

From the corners, from the shadows, came the sound of slow applause. A single pair of hands.

"Oh, that's cute," said the voice from the corner. "That's really precious. It's almost too much to take."

The six men at the table looked nervous again. They clearly thought that the seventh man might upset their guest. Loki turned to look at the man in the shadows. The only one in the room who caused him fear. But he could not reveal this fear to the other six; he must leave the pride upon his face.

"I speak from the heart," he said to the man in the corner.

"Oh, I don't doubt it, Loki. It's touching, really." The man clearly did not believe Loki. He was lying, one lie for another. "And you are doing your part. Even if you were lying to us, even if you didn't want to save the Earth, that's what you're doing. And I thank you for that."

An insolent slave—what was worse than that? This one would suffer greatly, once his power was taken away. "I am always at your command," said Loki to the insolent slave.

"I'm counting on it. Everyone has to do their part. Sharing the load, it's the only way to go." The man in the corner took out a piece of string and began playing cat's cradle with it. "What else, boys? What further updates do we have?"

One of the men at the table spoke, a small muscular man. He was cautious. He had considered reminding the man in the corner who was working for whom, that they were the commissioners of the grand design and he was but the architect. But he had thought it best to wait until Loki was gone. Reprimands were best administered in safety. Still, he could do something to show Loki that they respected him. "Everything else is in place. And I'm sure I need not remind anyone here that Lord Loki is not our servant, as he so graciously pretends to be. It is we who are his. We are endlessly indebted to him for the services which he has performed, and we depend upon those which he has promised."

"You are too kind," said Loki. There was, then, at least one human here willing to give proper homage, either through true respect or through fear. It mattered not. Either sentiment was appropriate.

The man in the corner spoke again, as if the previous comments had not been made and he was resuming his previous questioning. "Any more word from Crooked Man?"

"Yes, something unexpected." This time it was another man at the table, a plump man with a hooked nose. "One of the consultants they've called in is working for us. Well, he's working for our people overseas."

"A double agent? Who is it, then?" asked the man in the corner.

"Black Sheep," said the plump man.

"Black Sheep?" The man in the corner almost stopped his game of cat's cradle. "That's interesting. Hmm, very interesting indeed."

"You don't believe it? Our informant has been right every time so far."

"Oh, I didn't say I disbelieve. I just said it was interesting. No need to get excited, friend."

"Who is this Black Sheep?" asked Loki. "Shall I find him and reveal his secret thoughts?"

"No," said the man in the corner. "Your services are not needed. Crooked Man has been right so far, I see no reason to stop trusting him. After all, Black Sheep is a very intelligent person, perfectly capable of appreciating our mission. If you opened his mind, that might spoil his role as a double agent."

"Should we establish contact then?" asked the plump man. "He's in the very heart of their headquarters right now. He could give us a lot of information."

"Our little birdie can give us more of that than anyone else. Whenever he doesn't, that's because he has to protect himself or because it would spoil our plan. We'll let Black Sheep wait until we can use him. But we'll keep some agents tracking him, too." The man finished a surprisingly complicated pattern with the string. He held up his fingers to display it. "There! What do you think of that? Pretty cool, huh?" He chuckled. "Oh, you should see your faces!"


	10. Chapter 10:While the Storm-Clouds Gather

Chapter Ten

While the Storm-Clouds Gather

Fury still sat at the head of the table. He had described to them Loki's role in the Chitauri invasion, the dangerous mind-altering scepter he carried, and his frightening ability to manipulate people even without the scepter. When he had finished, they sat in silence for a moment.

The first one to speak was Booth. "Okay, so what do we do? How do we get this guy?"

"You don't," said Fury. "You let us take care of it. I wish we had the Avengers."

"What do you mean? Where are they?"

"They disbanded. Thor returned to Asgard. Ironman has given up his career, destroyed his suits, and returned to technological industries. Bruce Banner is nowhere to be found."

"And Steve Rogers?"

"He works for me. Occasionally."

"So call him in."

"You're being very authoritative, Agent Booth."

"Well, if he's the only guy who can deal with this Loki character, I don't see what alternative we have."

"I fully intend to contact Steve Rogers. But I want to make it clear that I'm the one calling the shots. You are here mainly as Doctor Brennan's partner. Do you understand?"

Temperance spoke up. "Booth is an excellent leader! He's also one of the bravest and most trustworthy—"

"Do you understand, Agent Booth?"

Booth said, "Yes." Then he added, "You sure are touchy about your authority. Director."

"If you'd seen what I have, you'd appreciate the importance of a chain of command."

Booth forced his mouth shut and satisfied himself with a glare at Fury. He folded his hands on the table to keep them in place.

Sherlock said, "This is all very interesting. Now, back to business. Fury, I need you to tell me what was hidden in the basement of the Pentagon."

"What makes you think I know?"

"Please. Do you think that you can insult my intelligence in that way? I need to know, if I'm going to assist you in this case."

"If _we _are going to," said John, including the others with his gaze.

Fury said, "We've already identified the killer, Loki. I don't see what other services we need you to perform."

"Oh, I don't know. Everything. How did Loki get word of this technology? Is he working alone or is he using a group of humans to help him? What's his plan? If you think that you can do a better job at detecting than me, then you wouldn't have called my brother in the first place."

Fury wasn't pleased, but he answered. "In the middle of the Pentagon basement is a special storage room, containing various items unfit for public knowledge."

"Such as?"

"Recovered extraterrestrial technology, new military secrets, the occasional master's thesis. Whatever can't be released, for reasons of public safety."

"The prototype for that teleporter which you're protecting?"

"It's possible."

"Quit playing around, Fury. Is it there or isn't it?"

"Yes, it's there. The original model of the teleporter is in that room."

"It's still there, then? Hasn't been stolen?"

"It's still there."

"Finally. Like pulling teeth. Well, it's perfectly obvious then. Loki was after that. Your agent was attempting to protect it. He got in the way, so Loki killed him. The question is, why didn't he take it? I doubt that a locked door or two could stop him."

"Definitely not," said Fury.

"So what was he doing? Was he interrupted, did he decide he had more important matters to do, could he not find the teleporter? But then, why break in unless he knew where to go?"

Temperance said, "If he was perfectly capable of apprehending the teleporter but did not do so, then it's most reasonable to suppose that he wasn't after the teleporter."

"But that's what this whole thing is about, isn't it? Was anything else of value taken from that room?"

"No," said Fury.

"And this agent's job was protecting the teleporter?"

"Among other things, yes."

Temperance said, "It's possible that Loki came for some other reason but that the SHIELD agent noticed him and attempted to protect the teleporter regardless of Loki's actual intentions. He may have been at the wrong place at the wrong time."

The Doctor said, "Just doing his duty and killed for it."

"No, no," said Sherlock, "doesn't make sense. Loki then went to different parts of the city to kill two other agents involved with the teleporter. That must be the connection!"

He banged his fist on the table with a tortured groan. The others looked at him with concern, except for John and Mary, who exchanged weary glances. Then, Sherlock stood up and adjusted his coat.

"I'm going for a walk," he said, "I can't think in this room." And then he left.

John looked at Mary. "Coming?"

"I'm going to stay here a bit," she said.

John kissed her on the cheek and then followed Sherlock.

"Sherlock, where are we going?" Sherlock didn't reply. "You aren't just going for a walk, you have somewhere in mind. You drove out of SHIELD headquarters and back into this city. You must be looking for a place in the city. But I don't see how, since you've never been here before."

"I'm looking for a place without many lights, where I can talk to whoever's been following us all day."

"What?"

"Don't turn around! Two men have been following us ever since we got off the plane. One of them followed us until we were taken to SHIELD headquarters. Must have been waiting for us to return, because he found us almost as soon as we got out of the car."

"But who? Why? Does he work for that—that Loki character?"

"Probably. If I can just find a place to corner him, we might get some answers. Where's a good dark alley when you need one?"

"There's one up ahead, about three streets down."

"That should do. Ready?"

"For answers? Oh yes."

They walked up to the alley and then turned into it. It was quite narrow, so they had gone only a few paces down it when they noticed how much harder it was to see. The city was noisy, but this part of town was quiet enough, so they could hear the footsteps of a man as he approached the entrance to the alley.

Already, Sherlock had scanned the length of the alley. A fire-escape on one side, though the building had no windows. A dumpster on the other. No time for one person to scale the fire-escape, which meant no chance to have each of them hiding in different locations. The dumpster it was, then.

"Behind the dumpster," he said to John. "I'll keep walking. Once we've both passed you and the dumpster, come from behind and pull out your gun."

"Sherlock, I'm not used to this gun. It's one that Fury gave me when we went to SHIELD."

"It'll do, now hurry!"

John quickly hid behind the dumpster. He almost gagged from the smell. This was clearly not a nice part of town, if the dumpsters smelled this bad. He crouched while trying to make sure that he didn't step in anything too disgusting. He was not normally squeamish, but he knew very little about the sanitary practices of Americans. And he was a doctor, after all. As he tried to preserve his health, he pulled out the small pistol which Fury had given him. He wondered whether the exchange of pistols was ordinary practice within American law enforcement. He had heard that they were madly in love with firearms.

He could see Sherlock, past the dumpster now, not turning around. It looked as if he were texting someone. John rolled his eyes. Then, he noticed that the footsteps were very close. It reminded him, as it always did, of playing hide-and-seek with his sister. Footsteps approaching while you crouched in a hiding place. He always felt sure that he would be caught. He felt sure of it even now.

But the footsteps continued, and then he saw a dark trench coat, grayish slacks (gray in this light, at least), and some kind of decrepit slouch hat. Almost as soon as he saw the man, the man began turning around. He was clearly expert at this. He was going to see where Sherlock's walking companion had gone, and he would find out any second.

John leapt up and pointed the pistol at the man. "Don't move," he said evenly. "Raise your hands."

The man complied. "What is this?" he asked angrily.

Sherlock, with his keen hearing, had heard John and had turned around. He walked rapidly back toward the dumpster. He, too, pulled out a gun. "I have another gun aimed at you," he said, "so I would advise you to give up any ideas of escaping. Now then, who are you and why are you following me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, bud. Maybe it's different over in England, but over here I can walk wherever I want. Quit pointing that thing at me. And you, come around from behind me. I don't talk to people I can't see."

Sherlock said, "You're very calm in the face of death. Not too worried that two men are pointing guns at you?"

"I was in the armed forces. I saw combat like you wouldn't believe."

"Yes, I know you were."

"How could you—"

"But I find it curious that a man hired as a sniper in Iraq would be so calm in a situation more characteristic of the front lines. This is a new situation for you. You're used to being hidden on top of a building."

"How do you know anything about me? Who—"

"My name is Sherlock Holmes, and it's obvious. Now why are you following me?"

The man reached one of his upraised hands to scratch his head. John moved the gun slightly to remind him not to try anything. But the man didn't try anything. He scratched his head and chuckled.

"He was right about you. Famous Sherlock Holmes! You really are something. Did you like being dead, Mister Holmes? You might find out what it's really like this time."

"Who are you working for? What's the plan? Tell me!"

"If you can't recognize the master stroke, the painter won't talk to you."

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed. "What did you say?"

"What I was told to say. If you ever approached me asking questions, I was supposed to tell you that."

"Tell me more."

A new voice sounded from the mouth of the alley, the one which Sherlock had been walking toward. "Hey! Is there a problem here?"

John looked past Sherlock at the newcomer. He was standing in the light cast by the street lamps, so John could see him fairly clearly. A tall, muscular American in a bomber jacket.

John said, "No, no problem, just police. Move along, thank you."

The muscular American started walking down the alley. "Mind if I see your badge?"

"Sherlock," said John.

"I'll handle it. Keep your gun on this one." Then he turned around and pointed his gun at the newcomer. "Walk away."

"I don't think so," said the man. "Two against one? That's not gentlemanly at all, boys. Is there a problem here?"

"We are agents of the law."

"You're not police officers."

"I'm warning you one last time—"

But as Sherlock spoke, the man acted. He dashed at Sherlock, who was already reluctant to fire, and he made a zigzag pattern to avoid any shots. He came with shocking speed for someone with such a heavy frame, and before Sherlock knew it, the gun was on the ground and the big man had his arm pinned behind his back.

"Sherlock!" said John again. He was sweating now, unsure whether to protect Sherlock or keep the hostage. That's stupid, he thought to himself, protect Sherlock! So he pointed the gun away from their captive. He directed it at the big man.

"John, no!" said Sherlock.

But it was too late. The ex-sniper was running out of the alley. He turned around once to look at them. As he reached the main road, he held up his hand as if to wave goodbye. Sherlock cursed a brief but ugly curse.

"Let him go!" shouted John at the big man.

"What's going on here?" asked the newcomer.

"I said let him go!"

"I'm not going to hurt him." He let Sherlock go. "But I'm not going to stand by and let you hold an innocent man at gunpoint."

"He wasn't innocent, you twit," said Sherlock, "he's the agent of a dangerous spy ring trying to steal important military technology."

"Oh, yeah? And who are you?"

"Sherlock Holmes."

The man cocked his head. "Sherlock Holmes? Famous English detective? What are you doing over here?"

"Detecting," said Sherlock icily. "Or trying to, as I work around interference from idiots."

"Look, who are you, then?" said John. He lowered the gun. The man was clearly not an accomplice of the spy.

"My name is Steve Rogers," said the man.

After Sherlock left the room, Booth said, "So is he autistic or what?"

"I find his intellect quite stimulating," said Temperance, "but I did notice a severe deficit in his social intelligence."

Fury said, "If he's anything like his brother, then he's worth the trouble."

Then something attached to Fury's belt beeped. He pulled out a small phone and said, "Fury."

A woman's voice said, "Director Fury, some men from the IRS are here to see you."

"Excuse me, but did you say the IRS?"

"What's the IRS?" asked Rose.

Temperance and the Doctor said at once, "Internal Revenue Service." They looked at each other. The Doctor smiled and gestured toward Temperance. She went on, "It's a branch of the government which monitors tax collection."

"That's right, sir," said the woman's voice to Fury.

"This late? It must be seven o' clock by now." Fury looked around the room, as if scanning it for dangerous intruders.

"I told them to come back later, but they insist."

"And they want to speak to me?"

"They said they were here to see you."

"All right. Tell them I'll meet them in a minute." As he left, he dialed a number on his phone. A call he needed to make first.

Fury walked through a wooden door into a small, boring lobby. There was a glass door in one wall, through which visitors came. There were plastic chairs against the wall. That was all the furnishing in the room. Calm music was playing from a speaker in the wall.

_I had another dream about lions at the door._

_ They weren't half as frightening as they were before,_

_ But I'm thinking about eternity…_

Three men were seated at the plastic chairs. The chairs were uncomfortable, so the men were happy to stand up when he entered.

One of them said, "Nicholas Fury?"

"Yes."

"My name is Charles Harris. I work for the Internal Revenue Service."

"How can I help you?"

Another man spoke. "Sir, I'm a police officer. We're here to arrest you for tax evasion. You have the right to remain—"

"Hold on. Tax evasion? Really? That's the best they could come up with?"

"Sir, you have the right—"

"You can't come to my place of work at this hour of the night and arrest me without any warning."

"Sir, the evidence against you is sufficient to warrant arrest. We were advised that you have avoided law enforcement before, so we didn't announce our intentions to your secretary. And we did leave a notice at your residence earlier this afternoon. If you'll let me finish reading you your rights—"

"This is ridiculous. Who are you? Are you really police?"

The man pulled out a badge. "Yes, sir. I'm a plainclothesman. Now—"

Fury stepped away from the men, to the other side of the room. He pulled out a gun. "Stay away from me."

"Sir!" said the man, in a voice suddenly loud and rather anxious. "Put the gun down!" He whipped out his own gun and pointed it at Fury. The third man, evidently another plainclothesman, did the same. "There's no need to make this difficult."

Fury fired one shot at the glass door on the opposite wall, shattering it. "On the floor!" he shouted. "On the floor, or this man's life is in danger!" He pointed the gun at the IRS agent, who dropped to the floor instantly in panic.

"Sir!" The plainclothesman was sweating. His hand started shaking. But he didn't go to the floor. Fury swore in his mind. If this kid panicked and shot him… Or was it an act, so that Fury would lower his defenses? He had seen better acts before.

"On the floor!"

"Put the gun down!"

The door which Fury had come through opened again. All eyes focused on it as the Doctor walked through. He was carrying an empty paper cup, looking around him as if searching for a water cooler. When he saw the guns, his eyes widened.

"Hullo! What's this?" he said.

"Stand back, this is an arrest!" shouted the police officer.

"I can see that," said the Doctor, walking farther into the room at a leisurely pace. He dropped the cup on the floor and held up his hands. "But I think it'd be better if we put the guns down and talked this over like the rational animals we are. Don't you agree?"

"Stay out of this, Doctor," said Fury. He was now pointing the gun at the officer who had been speaking. "They have a bogus charge against me. They clearly want me out of the game. It's most likely that, if I go with them, I'll be taken to prison and quietly murdered there."

The plainclothesman's face was covered in sweat. Whether or not he had heard of Fury before, Fury's manner was clearly unnerving him. He probably couldn't tell whether Fury was insane. "Sir, we're just doing our jobs. Nothing is going to happen to you. Put the gun down."

"These are just their pawns, Fury," said the Doctor calmly. "These men don't know anything about the technology, the murders, any of it. They got a weird assignment, they're already nervous, and you're making it worse. That man on the floor isn't even with the police. He probably came along so they could say they were with the IRS."

The plainclothesman who had first spoken to Fury tried to steady his shaking hands. "Sir…" he said, but he couldn't say anything else.

"Put down your gun, son," said the Doctor to the police officer. "It's all right, you can put down your gun."

The man started to lower his gun. The other officer did, too. Fury kept his gun up, but he did relax considerably.

And then the second police officer shot Fury in the shoulder. With a very knowing smile.

Fury's gun dropped as he let out a cry of pain. But, almost as soon as he was done screaming, he had raced toward the door which he and the Doctor had come through. He shoved the Doctor forward in front of him, and then he used his good arm to slam the door. Once it was shut, he locked it. Then he jumped forward into the Doctor, knocking them both to the floor. Another bullet came through the wooden door just as he did so.

The Doctor groaned. "Not much of a door for a top-secret headquarters," he said.

"Wait and see," said Fury. He rolled over onto his back, groaning as he did so. The Doctor could hear the officer banging against the door and trying to force the knob. Fury pulled a small panel off of the wall. The Doctor saw a large green button, which Fury punched as hard as he could. From the walls and ceiling, three thick metal panels met in front of the door with surprising speed. They fit together nicely. The room behind them was now isolated from the hallway.

As the metal panels came down, alarms began sounding. They drowned out the calm music playing in the lobby. They were announcing that the headquarters was under attack.


	11. Chapter 11: Evacuation

Chapter Eleven

Evacuation

"Yeah, Nick Fury called me a few minutes before I saw you," said Steve Rogers.

They were now sitting in a Starbucks Coffee shop. Sherlock stirred the coffee in his cup, but he hadn't yet drunk any of it. John hadn't ordered anything. He simply watched Rogers and Sherlock.

"He said he needed help, that Loki was back on our planet," Rogers said. "He didn't mention you two. But that's not surprising. There's a lot that he doesn't share."

Sherlock said, "He asked us to help him investigate a series of murders which proved to be the work of this Loki. The murders involve secret military technology which is in danger of being stolen."

"Yeah, that sounds like Fury's line of work."

"But you haven't heard about it before?"

"Not at all, before today. And now I just know what you and Fury told me."

Sherlock said, "It still doesn't make sense. Loki targeted three important SHIELD officials and had a chance to steal the teleporter, but he didn't take it."

"Wait, teleporter?" said Rogers.

"He—"

"Hold on, it's a teleporter?"

"Yes, why? Do you know something about it?"

"No, just—That's pretty crazy. That's all."

"What's more crazy is that Loki had the opportunity to steal it but did not take the opportunity. Why kill three of the key people involved in its construction if you're not interested in stopping its construction? But then, why allow the prototype to stay when you could steal or destroy it?"

John said, "Maybe the prototype is already obsolete. Maybe Fury has a better model already. Loki could be after that instead."

"He would still destroy the prototype, so that they couldn't start over or if they did they'd have to start from scratch. If he's as brilliant as Fury seems to think."

"He's very brilliant," said Rogers. "And dangerous. He can get inside your head, control your mind somehow."

"Yes, I've heard. All very interesting. John, if you weren't interested in the teleporter, why would you kill people associated with it?"

John shrugged. "To protest? To send a message?"

"But Loki has a flair for the dramatic. If he wanted to send a message, he would send a loud, clear message, an unmistakable message."

"To scare someone?"

"Exactly. Loki wanted the people who knew about the teleporter to worry that it was going to be stolen. He wants them to protect it, to panic, to fear for it. Why?"

Rogers spoke up. "Maybe you should ask which people he wants to scare."

"Well, Fury, obviously, and Mycroft." Sherlock stopped stirring his coffee. "Oh," he said, letting out a long slow breath. "Oh, so that's it."

"What?" John asked.

"He doesn't want the teleporter, he wants people. He wanted to draw us into this for some reason. All of us. Think about it! A serial murder with an unknown weapon involving one of my brother's projects. Together with the vague possibility of alien involvement, that's enough to make Fury interested in consulting each of us with Mycroft's help. It's tailor-made, John! A case perfectly suited to us. To get us all in one place."

"You mean, Loki wants us to meet at SHIELD headquarters? But why?"

"To kill us, to enslave us with his mind control. Who knows? The point is, it's a trap. The murders are a trap."

John stood up. "We need to get back there, then. We've got to do something, they're in danger."

"Yes, and we will be too, if we go there." Sherlock pulled out his phone. "Much better to give them a call first, see how things are going. We might warn them to disperse and thereby keep ourselves out of trouble too."

"No, Sherlock, Mary's in there, I'm going."

"John, don't be stupid." Sherlock looked over at Rogers, whose face had become very grim. "Something wrong?"

"If they're in danger, that's my cue," he said. He stood up too. "Feel free to make your call, but I'm going up there to make sure no one gets hurt."

"And if they kill you along with the others? What then?"

"My job isn't to stay alive. My job is to do my duty."

Sherlock was dialing. He already had turned his gaze away from Rogers. "Carry on, then."

Rogers looked at John. "You're coming too?"

"Yes, my wife is in there. Sherlock, call me if there are any developments on your end."

Sherlock didn't respond. He was waiting for someone to answer the phone he had called. He didn't say anything as they walked to the door. John shook his head. But then, as they were about to leave, Sherlock said, "John." John turned around to face him. "Be careful."

* * *

Fury and the Doctor ran down the hallway.

"We need to get you out of here," said Fury. "I thought this was the safest place, but evidently we have a breach."

"Evidently! Don't you have security procedures?"

"Those men shouldn't have been able to bring guns into the lobby. Someone on the inside is helping them."

"Someone working for Loki?"

"Maybe. In any case, the personnel at this base can't be trusted. Which means we need to get you people out of here."

"And where will we go? You have a safer place?"

"I told you there were two or three places safer than this. You'll go to one of those."

"Why? They aren't after us, they're after you."

"They didn't come after me until I made contact with you. You people— or at least one of you is the key. That means I need to ensure your safety."

They rushed into the cafeteria. The alarms were sounding there, too. Temperance and Will, who had been talking together, turned to look at them. Hannibal stood quietly with his arms folded. Booth, Mary, and Rose were talking. All of them looked worried, and they stood near each other in the middle of the room, but they did not look panicked. Rose rushed over to meet them.

"Doctor, what is it?" she asked. "What are those alarms about?"

"Mister Fury, you're bleeding!" said Temperance. "Is that a gunshot wound?" She came over to look.

"We're being attacked," said the Doctor.

"Attacked?" Booth said. "As in, _attacked_ attacked?"

"I need all of you to remain calm," said Fury in a loud voice. There was an anticlimax after this, as they all remained calm. "Okay, good. Now, I need you to come with me. We're evacuating this building. I'm going to personally escort you to a safer location. We should be fine if everyone does exactly what I say."

"I'm going to call my husband," said Mary. She pulled out a cell phone and started dialing.

Fury told her, "Keep your conversation as brief as possible. Tell your husband not to come back to headquarters, but don't tell him where you are or who you're with."

"Right," said Mary. Her reply sounded like a respectful courtesy, as if Fury had told her something as obvious as the fact that the earth revolved around the sun.

"All right, people, we don't have much time. Let's move."

They followed Fury, still talking in small groups, out of the cafeteria.

* * *

John and Rogers were running toward the car which Sherlock had driven earlier. As they reached it, Rogers asked, "Did SHIELD know that your buddy took their car?"

"Mm, probably not."

"Okay, then."

"You drive," said John.

"But you know the way to the base."

"I'll tell you how to get there, but I'd rather not drive on an American road."

"Oh, right! You guys drive on the wrong side."

"No, you—Never mind, just drive."

As John fastened his seat belt, he felt his phone vibrating. He pulled it out and saw that Mary was calling him.

"Hang on, hang on, it's Mary." He answered it. "Mary, are you all right?"

"John, don't go back to the base. It's not safe."

"Where are you? Are you all right?"

"I can't tell you where we are, but yes, we're fine. We're going to be fine."

"Oh, she's all right, thank God!" said John to Rogers.

"Amen," said Rogers.

"Mary, what should we do?"

"Just stay away from the base. Don't tell me where you are or where you're going. Not right now. I'll find you."

"Mary. No, you can't—"

"We're not safe, John. You're not safe. Not for long, I mean."

"Mary—" But the line was already dead. John swore.

"What did she say to do?" Rogers asked.

"She said we shouldn't go back to the base. She said they're safe but not for long. Why wouldn't she tell me where they were?"

"She's afraid someone is listening in," said Rogers. "What happened?"

"The base is under attack, like Sherlock said. Oh! Sherlock!" He undid his seat belt. "We need to see if he's all right."

"You're right," said Rogers, remembering their meeting. "He definitely overestimates his combat skills."


	12. Chapter 12: Through the Woods

**Author's Note: The chapters are appearing so quickly these days! I should make you wait longer, but don't worry, there is so much more ahead.**

Chapter Twelve

Through the Woods

The SHIELD base was enclosed by a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire and cameras. Within the fence, there was nothing except the building, a few outbuildings, and bare ground. On the other side, some thirty feet away from the fence, tall trees formed a dense wood as far as one could see in every direction. Fury led them along the least-lighted way that he could find. He had to grimace quite a bit to keep from crying out at the pain in his shoulder. With his uninjured arm, he pulled something out of a jacket pocket. It was a specially insulated wire-cutter made of adamantium, which would cut through the fence in seconds. They reached the fence in less than four minutes.

"So, now what?" asked the Doctor.

"Now, you cut the fence with these," said Fury, handing the wire-cutter to the Doctor.

"Right," he said, and set to work. "How long before they find which way we've gone?"

"It should take them ten minutes to figure out that we're not inside."

"Ten minutes? Are they really that bad at their job?"

"No, but I'm that good at mine. The base is specially constructed to be difficult to navigate unless you're familiar with it. And there are no directories or maps on the walls."

"But you said someone on the inside is helping them?"

"Someone at external security. Those people don't know the inner rooms or the lower levels very well. If someone closer to the inside is helping them, it'll take them a few minutes just to find one another."

"Terrific. Full marks for that! Where do we go, then? We should be able to get into those woods before they figure out we're outside."

"If we hurry. Once we're in the woods, we can head north. There's no civilization that way for a while. D.C. is to the south."

"And if they follow us?"

"I've made a point of knowing these woods, Doctor. I thought I should know my own territory."

"Turns out that was a good idea. Well done, Nicholas Fury. There we are!" The Doctor stepped back from the fence, pulling a man-sized piece away with him. "Now hurry through, all of you!" he said to the others. "We haven't got much time!"

"Will, come," said Hannibal Lecter, grabbing Will by the arm and leading him through.

Mary also passed through, nodding to the Doctor to thank him. Booth walked with Temperance. She stopped to look at Fury's arm again.

"There isn't time, Doctor Brennan," said Fury.

"If you bleed out, you won't be able to lead us," she said. "Your wound is in danger of—"

"My wound is slight. If you have to know, my blood is full of a formula which halts my aging and helps my body heal itself quickly. I could survive a much more direct gunshot wound than that. It's healing by itself already. Now hurry!"

Temperance looked worriedly at his arm one more time.

"Come on, Bones," said Booth, grabbing her shoulders and pushing her ahead of him through the fence.

Rose ran through next. The Doctor began to, but Fury grabbed his arm. He said, "Put that piece of fence back up. It might keep them from seeing where we exited. At least for a minute or two."

The Doctor said, "Right then, through you go," and made way for Fury. Once Fury was through the hole, the Doctor picked up the separated piece of the fence and walked backwards with it through the hole. He left it propped up against the standing fence, and then he turned to run into the woods with the others.

Fury led them through the woods at a fast pace. All of them were breathing heavily after a minute or two. Most of them were whipped by at least one young branch, which they were walking too quickly to avoid or divert. It was fortunate that the moon was full; otherwise, at that pace, one of them might have stepped in a hole or tripped over a log. That could slow them down much more than a cut on the face. So far, so good, he thought.

Temperance wondered at Fury's ability to run that quickly with his wound. She took this as evidence that he was telling her the truth about the formula in his blood. She would slow down every few minutes to look back at Booth, but he would say "Go!" in a loud, hoarse whisper.

About five minutes after they left the fence, they heard shouting behind them. "They haven't found us yet," said Fury, between loud gasps. "They're still outside of the woods. Keep going."

"Where?" asked Mary. She stopped running. The others did too, after a moment. Several of them noticed that she was not out of breath. Fury tried to keep running, but when she didn't follow, he too stopped and turned to face her.

"It doesn't matter right now," said Fury.

"It does to me. My husband is somewhere in the city, and for all you know he might be the one they're after."

"What do you want me to do?" Fury's voice was louder than before. He took a deep breath, then brought it back down to a loud whisper. "I can't help your husband right now. I need to get you to safety first."

"I appreciate that, and it's a good strategy, but I think it would be best if we parted ways. I'm going to find John."

"That is insane!"

"I'm perfectly capable of missions like this, as you know. I'll find John, and then we can find you."

"I can't let you do that. If anyone leaves, we risk losing what little team morale we have. The others might panic and decide to split too."

"That's not my responsibility. John is. I'm sorry, Nicholas, I have to go."

"And I can't let you."

Booth stepped toward her. He said, "Look, Mary, I'm sorry, but Fury's right. We need you to stay with us, for your own safety if nothing else."

"Do you propose to stop me?" she asked.

Hearing her tone of voice, Booth almost stepped back. "Mary…" he said helplessly.

She said, "I'll see you soon. Goodbye." She took off running, going to the left of the path which Fury was taking.

"What was that all about?" asked Rose. She had not been close enough to hear Mary's words.

"Don't worry about it," said Fury. "Keep moving."

* * *

Steve Rogers and John Watson made it back to the coffee shop just a few minutes after leaving it. When they entered, Sherlock looked up from the table and said, "Back already?"

"Mary called. She says they're leaving the base. She said it's not safe there."

"There. Told you. So, did she propose a way to get in touch?"

"No." John swore again angrily. "Why didn't she tell me where they were?"

Sherlock said, "She was afraid—"

"That someone was listening in, yeah, I know. What do we do now?"

"We wait here."

Rogers said, "We're visible from the street here. I could take you back to my place."

"How far?" said Sherlock.

"Hang on," said John, "what if he's the one they're after?"

"Hardly likely. Fury contacted him just a few minutes before we found him. And it took us only a few minutes to reach the coffee shop and begin talking. If Fury was already evacuating the place when you reached the car, then the attack must have occurred just a few minutes after Fury was done talking to him. It wouldn't make sense to attack the base before he could have arrived."

"Attack? I didn't say anything about an attack!" John suddenly looked even more frantic than before.

Sherlock did little to comfort him. "Oh, don't be thick, John. You, Rogers, where is this place of yours? Is it far?"

"Just a few minutes. I was on my way to a parking garage to get my bike when I found you."

"Excellent. Take us there."

* * *

In a private room at the Diogenes Club, Mycroft Holmes received a text message. The ringtone was the one he had assigned to Mary Watson. He instantly put down his volume of Arendt to read the text:

_SHIELD base north of D.C. is compromised. Last known location of mutual friends._

His eyes widened and he sat up straighter in his chair. He sent a text back:

_Separated?_

The reply came quickly:

_Yes._

He took a deep breath, looked around the room, and then sent another text to Mary:

_Olympus is descending._

Then, he pressed a button on the desk where his volume of Arendt lay unfinished. In a few moments, a well-dressed man with shoes covered in white padding came into the room.

"Yes, sir?" the man asked.

"Have them bring a taxi round. I'll need it to go to the airport."

"Very good, sir."

The man left. Mycroft took another deep breath. It would be risky, staying incommunicado for nearly a day. The military and economic progress of several sovereign nations might suffer tremendous setbacks as a result. And then there were the germs. And the noise. And the smells. But there was nothing for it. If the enemies were bold enough to attack SHIELD headquarters, then they must be very powerful and very desperate. And the situation was much more dire than he had expected. He could not control things from afar any longer. Mycroft Holmes was going abroad.

* * *

The shouting voices were in the woods now. They didn't shout as often as they did before. Fury had picked out seven distinct voices. He didn't recognize any of them. Maybe more people had come in the car which brought the fake policeman.

He kept leading the six others, glancing back every minute or so to count them in the moonlight. Brennan, Booth, Lecter, Graham, Tyler, and the Doctor. All of them were keeping up fairly well. It was fortunate that Doctor Brennan had come in the middle of the night. She was wearing tennis shoes, not the high-heeled shoes which he had noticed whenever she appeared on television or in the papers. He had expected Lecter to have trouble keeping up, but the well-dressed psychologist ran as if he jogged through the woods every week. Maybe it was his upbringing in some harsh Slavic state.

Two voices shouted again. Fury noticed that they were farther apart than they had been before. A third voice responded, farther away than either of them. They were trying to enclose the whole area. They wanted to hem in the group he was leading.

His shoulder continued to ache. He had to keep swinging his arm to keep up the pace he was enforcing. Every time he did, it ripped something in his deltoid. It would be better soon. He had to keep reminding himself of that. Doctor Brennan didn't know it, but he had pulled out the bullet on his way to the cafeteria before she had seen the wound at all. His body had nearly sealed off the wound by the time she commented on its bleeding. The blessings of inheriting the Infinity Formula from his father: it allowed him to run through a dark woods, chased by his own people, without bleeding out.

Still, the pain of using that arm to run was getting to him. They had been running almost twenty minutes. His heavy breathing made it worse; he knew that he had to swing the arm when he exhaled, and the rhythm of his breathing allowed him to dread this motion every time. No doubt he was tensing as he did so, making it worse. How many breaths in a minute? How many moments of dread per second? Even he had his limits. He turned around again, to count heads. All there.

Rose Tyler kept her eyes on Fury. If she looked at the Doctor, she would worry whether he would make it out alive, and then she would be too anxious to keep up this pace. She had to stay calm to force her body onward. Anxiety might make her collapse. She could pretend she was with the Doctor in some ancient Celtic game or other, she told herself. She could pretend to be traveling in time, competing to see who gets to eat the shoulder off the boar or something. She gave up the idea in despair. She couldn't pretend. They were running in order to survive. She couldn't hide that, but she could avoid the fear that they might not succeed. She was with the Doctor, after all.

A thousand thousand thoughts raced through the Doctor's head every second. Contingencies, consequences, probabilities, strategies, all contemplated with the intensity of a year of human study, only to be set aside for a new set. And then, every few seconds, the single, all-excluding thought: _Rose_.

Booth felt as if he were on a mission again. He declined to think of some of these people as comrades in arms. Most of all, he didn't want that for Bones. She didn't belong to that side of his life. It was unacceptable that she had been brought this close to it. And that made him think of Fury as something of an enemy. If this guy could get them to safety, then Booth would tolerate him. If Fury screwed up again, then they were out. He could get them out of the States if he needed to. How long were they going to run at this pace? Basic was a long time ago.

Will was struggling to keep up. He was glad that he jogged a few times per week, when he wasn't too exhausted from his nightmares. A part of him was surprised at Hannibal's endurance, while a part of him remained unsurprised by any excellence which Hannibal ever displayed. Irritating as it was, it was also pretty remarkable. This was not how he had expected to die: caught up in a much bigger matter, not targeted because of revenge or near-exposure but simply because he was part of a set of people who knew about a secret weapon. Still, nothing went as planned.

Hannibal was enjoying himself. All of these people showed admirable spirit. It had been too long since he was the one being chased. He had forgotten what it felt like. A gamble he hadn't risked in a while. Once he left this wood—with or without the others—he would have to try it again soon.

For one of the few times in her life, Temperance didn't have time to think.

Fury kept leading them through the trees, trying to listen for the noise of their pursuers, plotting out which course to take. He knew that they would need to stop soon. He had to push them enough to get them to his goal before their stamina gave out.

This was his last thought before a man dashed through the trees to his right and almost slammed into him. The man raised a semi-automatic rifle. He pointed it at Fury. A light on the scope of the rifle illuminated the director of SHIELD and kept him from seeing his confronter. Fury stopped his furious pace and raised his hands. He could hear someone else crashing through the brush behind him. He hoped it was another hostile and not one of his charges.

"Where are the others?" the man demanded.

He didn't see them? Maybe they had spotted the man in time and had hidden. "Others?"

The man moved his rifle slightly, threatening Fury. "Tell me. Now."

Fury thought as fast as he could. If the others were hiding, they wouldn't be able to run until the man was gone. But which way would they go once they could run? They would probably think to follow Mary, who had gone west.

"I sent them east," he said.

"Did you really?" said the man. "It took you that long to remember?"

"I had to collect my thoughts. I've been running."

Fury felt a fist impact the region above his kidneys. Together with the pain in his shoulder, this was enough to make him fall to his knees. The man who had walked up behind him was definitely a hostile. "Don't mess with us, Director Fury. Is that the right way?"

Fury collected his breath. "I don't mess with men carrying guns. You won't catch them anyway. They left hours before you reached the base. I didn't evacuate until I was attacked."

"That's a lie," said the man behind Fury. "There was another one with him, the one called the Doctor."

"The Doctor isn't with the others," said Fury. "I'm not stupid. I sent them off in different groups, at different times."

"Send half the units east," said the first man. "Have the others keep going north. Fury, you're coming with me."

"Why don't you shoot me now?" asked Fury.

"Come on," said the man, moving his gun in the direction he wanted Fury to go. So, Fury went that way.


End file.
